Blackadder Redivivus, Part One
by amy.d.fuller.9
Summary: Blackadder's not-so-humble origins are reviewed, including an explanation for his many "incarnations". He's telling his story from the present, where he has become a slightly more sober, angsty Blackadder, but not too much out of character, I promise! Part One covers the first two series and Charles 1. Thanks for reading—reviews most welcome!
1. Chapter 1

**In which Blackadder's origins and person are explored. Figuratively, not literally.  
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**I do not own Blackadder or any of the characters contained herein. Please notice that, as Richard Curtis and the others involved in Blackadder saw fit to mangle history, I have taken the liberty to do so in my own small way. Well, and later in not-so-small ways . . . **

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_Non sum qualis eram._  
"I am not such as I was."  
—Edmund Blackadder

_Absit iniuria verbis._  
"No offense meant."  
—Amy Darian Fuller

The Beginning—1461-1499

In the beginning I was quite stupid and rather ignorant. Born into royalty, I was ignored by my father, upstaged by my older brother, and coddled by my mother. Neither handsome nor intelligent, I seemed fated to spend my entire life in virginal obscurity. Forever Prince Edmund—nephew of King Richard III and when he died, son of King Richard IV. Not in that life, I assure you, was I meant to be King of England. In my ignorance, however, that is exactly what I wanted.

When I say I was ignored by my father I am being kind, for the truth is one must acknowledge something before one can ignore it. More times than I can count, my father simply forgot I existed. Someone, usually Lord Chiswick, would have to remind him he had another son besides Harry.

"I do?" he'd say, then lean closer to Chiswick. "What's his name?"

"Edmund, your Majesty," Chiswick would answer—even after Father became King Richard IV of England, he couldn't be bothered to remember who I was.

That is somewhat ironic, when one considers it was my misfortunate action immediately following what came to be known as the Battle of Bosworth ﬁeld on August 21, 1485, that put him on the throne. I suppose I could be excused because I was young and inexperienced in the art of war. The sight of so many dead on the battleﬁeld had frightened me to the very marrow of my bones and I had tied my horse, Black Satin, to an oak and gone off to relieve myself. When I returned I found a knight in full armor untying Black Satin. I never thought to see whether it might have been a friend who had need of my horse. I simply struck off his head. I killed my great-uncle, King Richard III.

That evening, Father came to the castle full of himself (as he always was) and full of the victory over the Tudor army and their leader, Henry of the same name, only to discover his father had been killed in battle. When he had stiﬂed Harry's over-dramatic public mourning (for Harry knew this meant he was now next in line for the throne after his father), he said to the court, "And we all know who did this dreadful deed,"—then looked me in the eye—"Don't we?"

At that moment I knew that he knew and he knew I knew he knew. I was prepared to die. Really, I was. I knew I'd done a despicable, damnable thing. And then Father answered his own question: "Henry Tudor!" Father made what was in his eyes the only wise choice. In promoting further opprobrium against Henry Tudor, he ensured more support for himself by the court, and he spared his younger son. Although the wisdom of that second point could be argued. It did seem many times thereafter he regretted his decision.

It is difﬁcult to say now whether my behavior brought on the treatment meted out to me, or whether the treatment I endured encouraged my behavior. Certainly my mother loved me, but the attention she paid, though affectionate, was absentminded at best.

And what can I say about brother Harry, everyone's favorite? He was all I was not. Aside from being the ﬁrst-born, he was tall, straight, well-muscled, and deﬁnitely had been blessed far more than I in the brains department. On top of all that, he was good, especially when around anyone who mattered. He learned early on how to curry favor, how to kiss up to men of inﬂuence. Whereas I—I was ever clumsy when presented to anyone of higher rank than I. I couldn't walk without walking into something or someone, nor could I speak without shaming myself or someone else. I was, I am afraid, a constant embarrassment to my father.

Early on I decided if no-one else would care for me (excluding my mother's vacuous affections), I would have to care for myself. By the time I was in my early 20's, I had become the most self-serving, self-involved member of our family. If no-one would pay attention to me and love me for who I was then, I reasoned (with what little I had between my ears at the time), they would pay attention to me and love me when I became King. How little I knew!

As I say, Harry was better than I at almost everything—riding, ﬁghting, and courting. I could write a far better love poem than he, but my face usually stopped any love that might have developed. A young woman pushed me off the ramparts of the castle one night when she found it was I and not Harry who had sent her the love letter that had ignited her passions. Yes, my luck was that bad.

It wasn't until I was 31 that I was ﬁnally married, and that by arrangement, as most marriages were in those days. My father at ﬁrst tried to marry me to the Spanish Infanta Isabella, daughter of Isabella of Castile and Fernando of Aragon, in order to strengthen our alliance with Spain.

Isabella was twenty-two in 1492, when we were betrothed. I think it might have been the shortest betrothal ever; Father said at dinner the evening he received news from a courier that King Fernando had not even taken time from his negotiations with some fellow named Colón to approve the marriage. I was too ignorant at the time to understand what that boded for me, but I soon found out. Blessed with two Hapsburg lips, this woman had the mouth of a carp and the suction of a very large leech. I was truly frightened of her. It was one thing to write love notes to beautiful girls and meet them outside on the parapets; it was another entirely to ﬁnd oneself betrothed to a man-eating walrus.

I did everything I could think of to get out of the marriage. And when Baldrick pointed out that if the Infanta were not a virgin the betrothal would be void, I jumped at the chance. I sent Baldrick to seduce her in my place. He survived the deed with only bruises and two black eyes, but even his heroic sacriﬁce was not enough to spare me.

We had to go forward with the wedding. Father, always planning war, urged us on as he moved his men around on the mock battleﬁeld. I had no choice. We said our I do's and the priest was just about to pronounce us man and wife when I was suddenly, miraculously, spared.

Just as politics and the need to gain an ally in Europe had caused the betrothal, so they saved me from having to marry the Infanta. Something about the Swiss, the French and Spain, if I remember correctly. In the time it took for Father to guess what had happened that had changed our fortunes so drastically, my circumstances were extremely—and happily—changed. Father asked if there were any princesses from Hungary in the castle. There was one, Princess Leia, who had been on Harry's list. Immediately we were wed. So I take it back; _this_ was the shortest betrothal in the history of our family.

If it had been anyone other than Leia, that marriage probably would have fallen through as well. She was but ten when we were wed, and I was like a father to her. The marriage was successful only in that it provided an alliance between the Plantagenets of England and the ruling family of Hungary—the Kossuths? I'm not sure now.

In autumn of that same year, the Infanta married Alfonzo of Portugal while he was yet Crown Prince. He died the following year (one can only speculate, but I suspect he may have simply been devoured) and in the autumn of 1493, she was married to Manuel I of Portugal. I heard of these things in passing at court, and I did not know of her death in 1498 until long after the Plantagenet dynasty had ceased to exist.

Three years after I was wed, in autumn of 1495, the plague crossed the Channel from Europe once again. Father was ill and delusional for days. The rest of us were spared, but the peasants in the town below the castle were not so blessed. As often happened in the midst of plague, panic set in and people began looking for a scapegoat. They sent for a Witchsmeller.

I have been and done many things; I have never been involved in the occult. But all one had to do in those days to be called a witch was own a cat, or have a better garden than one's neighbor, or any number of small things that might give one's neighbor reason to no good reason at all and several bad ones, I was charged with being a witch. Baldrick and Lord Percy, in trying to defend me, ended up sharing my fate. We were to be burned alive, and it was evident nothing could be done to prevent it. Father appeared to be extremely satisﬁed with the results of my trial; Harry did not care so long as he was spared.

I don't think Leia, dear child, had any idea what was really going on. At least she said good-bye when Mother brought her to see me in jail the night before we were to be burned. Mother seemed to be indifferent to my plight. The only evidence to the contrary was the strange little doll she had given Leia to give me. I had to call out to Mother to get a fare-thee-well. It saddened me a great deal that at the end the one person who had ever really meant anything to me and who, so far as I knew, ever really cared about me, had turned and was walking away without a word.

She gave an absent-minded good-bye and then I was left with Percy and Baldrick. The Witchsmeller had even killed my horse, Black Satin. I had never been more alone until that night.

The following morning we were taken out and tied to stakes over bundles of sticks piled high. I held onto the doll. It was all that remained to me of Mother and Leia, and when they stripped us of our clothes and tied us to the stakes I refused to let go of it. The ﬁre was lit, and all too soon the heat caused me to drop the doll into the ﬂames below us. The next thing we knew, the Witchsmeller himself was burning just as his poor victims had done, the ﬁre beneath us was reduced to embers, and we were free.

Father recovered from the plague and for the next couple of years, the family remained somewhat subdued. I think the shock of what had almost happened affected us all. Even Father was considerably less hostile than he had been, and once or twice I caught him looking at me with a thoughtful expression on his face.

Small minds often paint others with their own brush, and at the time I thought he was wondering how he could rid himself of me for good. That is what I was wondering about him, after all. I began to plot how to get what I thought I really wanted out of life. I didn't want much—just the throne.

If I had been more intelligent I might have developed different goals. As it was I got myself and my only two friends in the world (if I had but recognized them as friends) into more trouble than we could possibly manage.

In the end, my scheming was the death of me.

I spent a great deal of time walking the ramparts of the castle mumbling to myself. Percy and Baldrick were still my faithful friends, but their attempts to brighten my days became excruciatingly irritating. It was while I was in this mood that the event which was to forever change my life ﬁnally caught up to me.

It was not long after Easter of 1497. My father had reigned as Richard IV for 13 years and we had known peace, if keeping the Tudors from storming the castle and usurping the throne could be called peace. On St. Juniper's Day it was the custom for the King to give gifts to his family. Father, to please Thomas Lord Hastings, gave him my duchy of Edinburgh. I know there was no real Duke of anything in Scotland at the time, but we liked to pretend. My honors and titles were reduced to one, Lord Warden of the Royal Privies. At the age of 36 I had been humiliated more than I could bear. Big brother Harry looked to be a shoe-in for next King of England, and I was the keeper of toilets. It really was too much!

Then and there I determined to seize the throne. I could not do it alone; I would need help, but not the help already available to me. I dismissed Lord Percy and the squire Baldrick from my service and set about ﬁnding the most wicked men in the kingdom. They would be my army, help me take the throne, and with the riches that would be at my disposal I would reward them handsomely. It wasn't easily done, but by December I had gotten six men to aid me in my quest. Following all the way on his absurdly fast donkey was the old man I had met and allowed to accompany me from just outside the gates of the castle. I established that I would go back to the castle and when the time was ripe, I would send the six a sign—the Black Seal—and they should come to the castle and we would take it together and I would ﬁnally get what I believed I should have gotten all along. I was full of self-satisfaction as I rode home.

That night while the old man and I were camped by the side of the road, I had the most unpleasant surprise. The old man was no old man but an old enemy, Phillip of Burgundy, who called himself the Hawk. (We had been deadly rivals since childhood, when he had styled himself the Thrush). And like everyone else around me, he too had grown tall and strong—well able, now more than ever, to bully me and leave me cowering in my boots.

He held grudges, believe me. I suppose he had good reason to. I was directly responsible for his exile to France in 1482. Fifteen years he'd been living among the French; surely that was more than enough to break even the strongest man. But here he was, back in England!

He knocked me senseless and when I awoke I was in a dungeon. My fate, according to Phillip, was to be slowly eaten to death by snails. While poetic, it was hardly realistic. I would go mad long before the snails ever began to nibble. If it weren't for Mad Gerald, who had been in that same prison cell for twenty years and who had chosen to go mad rather than be nibbled to death by snails, I never would have escaped. It was a full year before he revealed to me he had fashioned a key from his own teeth.

"You mustn't be rude about Mr. Rat, he's my friend. Well, there's him—" He pointed at the rat. "—and then there's Mr. Key."

I was stunned. "What?"

Mad Gerald pulled an object from his tunic. "Mr. Key. I made him from my own teeth. Good morning, Mr. Key."

It took no more than a second for me to pass from "I can hardly believe my fortune" to "I'm getting the arse out of here." I grabbed the key and was out and away from the prison in no time.

The trap was ﬁnally sprung, and the evil men I had enlisted came from the four corners of the kingdom to the castle. We were all together in a stock room getting ready to do our dastardly deed, when in amongst us sprang the Hawk. And this is where, I think, I made my fatal mistake. I told these wicked men how horrible the Hawk was. Surely if they knew how bad he was they would rather follow me because, as I thought at the time, I was good and he was not. I didn't stop to think that being evil, they would far rather follow a man more wicked than I. In less time than it takes to draw breath, my six deadly acquaintances had changed their allegiance and turned their weapons on me. The Hawk laughed like a maniac.

He had prepared a room for me, with the only throne I would take in that lifetime. It was of iron, and it was the most horrible thing I believe I have seen before or since. There was a set of shears on either side of my head that would cut off my ears. There were two very heavy and very sharp axes above each wrist that would chop off my hands. And there was a spike and a grindy thing that would spike my nethers and grind my codlings, as we called them in those days. I won't even tell you about the feathers.

I was strapped and chained into it . . . I woke to a shout and a warmth I had never known ﬁlled my heart. I had heard my father call me by my right name! I opened my eyes to ﬁnd my whole family gathered around me. My mother, my father, Harry, Leia (now a delightfully ripening sixteen years of age) and most of the Lords of the court were there.

"He lives!" my father bellowed. Everyone was cheering, though my mother looked particularly sad. I realize now that, though she had managed to save me and my friends Baldrick and Lord Percy from being burned to death, she couldn't keep me from dying from the horrible wounds I had been given.

"Father," I said. "You called me Edmund."

And Father in his usual way said "Oh. Sorry, Edgar. How are you?" Looking at this from such a distance of time, I would like to think perhaps at last he was more tenderly disposed toward me, but such was his habit of forgetting my name he couldn't help it.

"Not so well," I answered. Truth be told, I felt numb and ill, as though I were coming down with ﬂu. "Harry, what do you think my chances are?"

"Oh, good, good," lied Harry.

Mother then grasped at hope. "He'll live?"

"Oh, no," he said to her. Then to me, "Sorry, I thought you meant your chances of going to heaven."

Heaven? I had never thought about going to heaven; I had never considered the possibility that I would die. The only time I addressed God was when I wanted him to get me out of some scrape or other. Suddenly God was a lot closer and I saw myself falling into the same pit as all the other members of the Black Seal.

"My lords," Father said, holding a goblet. "I give you Edgar."

Well, if I was dying I wasn't going out without being really toasted. I tapped Father's leg with my arm and he bent down to hear me.

"Could you toast me as the Black Adder?" I asked. He straightened and lifted his goblet.

"The Black Dagger!"

Poor man, he could never get it right. Perhaps he was hard of hearing.

They all drank my honor with wine from the same vat Percy had poisoned. I'd like to think it was my being half-dead that dulled my mind, that I wasn't really so incredibly thick that I would taste wine that had just killed my family and the court. But as I have said, in the beginning I was quite stupid.

It was only a small sip.

I was King Edmund III of England for, oh, about thirty seconds.

And then I died.

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****This is the first chapter of my first fanfic posted here. Reviews are welcome! And thanks for reading. :-)****

**As I said, just background for those who might have forgotten or those who are not familiar with Blackadder's beginnings. From here, I do tend to deviate from script a considerable bit! Please review, and thank you again.**


	2. Chapter 2

**In which Edmund discovers he is not dead, remakes his acquaintance with Henry Tudor, and experiences a twinge of goodness.**

**I do not own Blackadder, so in the unlikely even that someone actually associated with his character sees this, please discard all litigous thoughts—I have no money and am making no money from this story.**

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**1st January, 1499**

The Bible says it is appointed to man once to die, and then the Judgment. Dead people stay dead; I would have done so, if I had truly died. What I didn't know as I sipped the wine was that I was already beginning to heal from the horrendous wounds I had received. The wine merely induced a stupor so deep that Percy and Baldrick thought me dead.

I thought me dead too, until I woke up choking on a mouthful of lavender blossoms. Even then I wasn't sure.

All was dark. I could hear a strange rasping sound like a stick being dragged rapidly over the bare earth. There were weights on my eyes and on my chest. And of course, my mouth was full of lavender.

I sat up awkwardly and the weight slid off my chest, landing with a thump on the ﬂoor. I spat out the ﬂowers, trying to push them from my mouth with my tongue.

The rasping stopped and a woman screamed. There were running footsteps, and then I heard Percy from what seemed to be a great distance but turned out to be layers of linen wrapped round my head, covering my eyes and ears.

"Oh! It is his ghost!" Percy sounded perfectly panicked.

"Percy, quit jabbering and help me get this off my head." I held up my useless arms.

More footsteps. Baldrick, this time. "No, my lord Percy, it is your imagina—Oh!"

I was getting peevish. "Come here and unwrap me!"

It was Baldrick who did the favor. As he pulled the last of the linen away from my head, something fell from my eyes. I opened them to see Baldrick taking a step back with a puzzled expression on his face. Percy stood rooted to the spot in the doorway.

"What is the matter with you two?" I was headachy and not inclined to foolishness. "You both look as if you'd seen a ghost."

"Now that you bring it up, my lord . . . is it really you?" Percy asked.

"Well of course it's me, isn't it? It isn't the Spanish Infanta."

"That's just as well," Baldrick muttered.

"But my lord, we brought you here to be buried." Percy wouldn't come out of the doorway.

"Why ever did you do that?" I asked.

Baldrick glanced at Percy and back to me. "You were dead, my lord."

I was humbled by their friendship, if only for a moment. "How very kind of you. Obviously I am not dead, or I wouldn't be standing here talking to you. I'd be in a winding sheet with coins on my eyes, a psalter on my chest, and a mouthful of lavender."

"Y-yes, my lord." Percy's eyes moved to the ﬂoor at my feet. I followed his gaze and saw, amongst the sodden purple blossoms at my feet, the glint of a gold coin. Next to it was a book, its beautifully illuminated pages open. I could see clearly the words by the sunlight which ﬁltered through the single window:

Circumdederunt enim me mala quorum

non est numerus

conprehenderunt me iniquitates meae

et non potui videre

pures factae sunt quam capilli capitis

mei et cor meum dereliquit me.

Of course, it was Mother's Psalter. Baldrick or Percy must have found it near her in the chamber where we all were poisoned.

In a rush I remembered the chair, the chains, the blades cutting through my ﬂesh, the gouts of blood, the unspeakable pain. I remembered the goblet, tasted yet the wine. I turned as in a dream and saw an old woman on the ﬂoor in a dead faint, the ﬁne linen still in her hands.

Baldrick was decidedly the smartest of the three of us in those days; he picked up the sheet, draped it about me, and took my arm.

"Beg your pardon, my lord, but Henry Tudor is taking the throne."

"He's rather quick about it, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is, and if he ﬁnds we have survived the—"

"Er, the attack," Percy interjected.

"—the attack, he'll be after their heads. Your head, my lord."

"But I—I was tortured by Phillip of Burgundy, and then I was poisoned along with everybody else! For all Henry Tudor knows, I'm dead."

Baldrick spoke to me as to a child. "Yes, my lord, but they didn't ﬁnd your body, or Lord Percy's."

"How wonderful for you that you're a servant," I snapped, then turned toward my fellow noble. "And what about your head, Percy? Surely you have a connection to the throne."

Percy looked decidedly uncomfortable. "My grandfather on my father's side . . ."

"Yes?"

"Um, his wife's sister . . . "

"Yes, yes, go on!"

"She was mother to your grandfather, King Edward IV."

Already things were looking brighter. I would have rubbed my hands together if I'd had any.

That moment we heard a hunting horn accompanied by the baying of hounds.

"Tudor's discovered I'm missing!" I turned to Percy, who had paled considerably.

"And me," he said.

"Yes, well, I don't care about you! Grab those two coins, and anything else you can ﬁnd that might be of value!"

Baldrick tugged me toward the door. "Quickly, my lord."

We ﬂed into the forest, evading the hounds and the horses at times by the merest of margins. The sheet, doubled and secured around my waist with Percy's sword belt, in the manner of the Scots, offered little protection from the brush and brambles we tore through. It wasn't long before my naked feet were bloodied and I knew I was leaving a trail for the dogs.

The futility of our ﬂight made its way even into my dull mind. Every breath I dragged into my lungs seared my chest and I wanted nothing more than to stop and let the hounds take me. But Percy and Baldrick, bless them, would not let go of me. Suddenly we burst from the brush and ﬂew into space. The next thing I knew I was underwater with no idea which end was up—I'd never learned to swim. Before I could think, a hand grabbed my hair and jerked my head up, and then I found myself ﬂoating down stream between Baldrick and Percy.

We drifted long enough to get our breath, then we were out on the opposite bank and into the woods once more. When we came to a small clearing, we collapsed to the soft grass.

I held up my arms. At the end of each one was a hand, but they wouldn't do what I asked. They were as limp as dead ﬁsh. They frightened _me_.

"Prince Edmund, you've got your hands back!" Percy said. "Hurray!"

"Yes, I've got my hands back, how delightful!" I snapped as I shook my arms and watched my hands ﬂop around. "And right now they're as useful as the contents of a eunuch's codpiece."

"Um, my lord, if Henry Tudor does catch you, you could pretend you're a cripple and fool him into thinking you're someone else," Baldrick suggested.

I had learned nothing yet. "No, wait. I've got an idea! If Henry Tudor catches me, I'll just pretend I'm a cripple and he'll think I'm someone else!"

"Oh, very clever, my lord!" Percy twittered.

"It would be better if he didn't catch you at all, my lord," Baldrick said. He helped me up and we were off again.

We doubled back much farther upstream than where we went into the river, crossed again, and found shelter in a dry cave. Even though it was the dead of winter, we dared not light a ﬁre for fear of discovery. Cold, wet, and thoroughly exhausted, we clung together for warmth and shivered ourselves through to the morning.

**2nd January, 1499**

That morning we agreed to go back to the castle. Since the main part of Tudor's force had not yet arrived, we would be able to slip in and no-one would be the wiser. There we could gather such belongings and supplies as we would need to keep body and soul together until we could ﬁnd sanctuary with allies.

The three of us, being quite ignorant of the art of espionage, did not notice the footprints we left behind us in the dusting of newly-fallen snow. Nor did we consider the possibility Tudor himself would continue to scour the countryside for anyone or anything who might oppose his claim to the throne, though it ought to have been obvious—as we made our way back to the castle, the only living beings we saw were sheep.

I'm sorry to get so immersed in details. One of the side effects Mother's gift brought with it was a memory most university students would kill for. I remember things I have seen as though their images have been engraved on my mind. I can call them up with ease at almost any time, although when I am exhausted or severely tried they may come to me unbidden; I have no control over what I see and remember. One might think such a memory a blessing, but at those times I consider it a curse.

Tudor's men caught up with us as we were crossing the orchards below the castle. I was ahead of Baldrick and Percy, and heard no warning before I found myself ﬂanked by two very large men with drawn swords, the blades of which were covered with gore. I was still such a coward I could do nothing but gibber. With a look of disgust one of them reversed his long-sword and knocked me to the ground with the pommel.

I regained consciousness tied to a post in what I realised was our castle dungeon. A thin, sallow-skinned man was slapping me in the face. The only part of me that could move was my head, which was whipping back and forth under the blows from his gauntleted right hand.

I pulled my head back against the post. "I'm awake, you can stop now. Really, I'm ﬁne."

The blows stopped and when my eyes focused I was not surprised to recognise the man, who slapped me again for fun.

"Henry Tudor," I said. "I trust you're doing well."

"I've searched the castle. Richard Plantagenet and his family and court are here dead, save two." He studied my face closely, then gestured to one of his men, who handed him a rag. Slowly, almost gently, he wiped the blood from my face.

"You can imagine my interest when I found two men of obviously noble birth approaching the castle, along with their servant."

"Really," I managed through swelling lips. "You must be mistaken."

"You resemble greatly the idiotic Prince Edmund Plantagenet in whose room I was hidden after the battle of Bosworth ﬁeld."

"Ah." I laughed nervously and was annoyed that my voice went up as it tended to do when I was frightened. "An accident of appearance, surely."

"Are you not Edmund Plantagenet—"

"Oh, no, my father called me Edgar."

"—also known as the Black Adder, though he was so stupid he ought to have been called the Black Cabbage?"

"No! Goodness no! Er, actually, I myself am the Black Dagger!"

Tudor studied my face closely for a moment. "No, you are he. I would know that mole anywhere."

"You mean one of my acquaintances?" Trying to put a brave face on it, I looked around for Percy and Baldrick.

One of his men cleared his throat and kicked something on the ﬂoor to his side. There at his feet were the only two men I could call my friends. Both bore sword wounds and lay quite still, their faces frozen in the surprise they must have felt when they were run through.

I slowly brought my gaze back to Henry's. When our eyes connected he read the truth on my face.

"So," he chuckled quietly. "The last Yorkist dogs have been accounted for, and you, Edmund Plantagenet, are the last alive."

"Erm, yes, could we keep it that way?"

But he was a hard man, perhaps a little insane in his own way.

"I'll keep you alive as long as I ﬁnd you useful. How can I use you?"

I was dismayed at the possibilities. "I'm sure I don't know."

"I need to study how to make you the most effective impediment to any other Yorkists who might think they have a claim to the throne." He turned and walked away.

"There's a library upstairs," I called after him. "Take your time."

He turned and smiled, then spoke to his men. "Bring him upstairs and tie him to the table in the great hall. I don't want to forget we've got him here."

While one guard untied the ropes that bound me to the post, the other straightened from where he'd been going through Percy's clothes and purse and threw something at me. My still-waking hands fumbled but I held the object against my chest, then carefully grasped it and held it away from me. It was Mother's Psalter. Why Percy had brought it with him was a mystery to me**,** but later I was glad he did.

The guard led me up to the main hall by a rope and tied my right leg securely to the trestle under the table, so that there was no room to move. Having nothing to do, I began to leaf through the Psalter. With care I was able to turn the pages, though holding them was still difﬁcult. My clumsy ﬁngers slipped and the leaves I'd been holding fell to the left. Though paper was dear, there were many blank pages at the end. Turning back to the ﬁrst of them, I saw they were covered with Mother's ﬁne hand.

After once again having assured myself there was no possibility of escape, I began to read. I got no further than mention of "our dear Harry's ﬁrst birth day." The last day's running had worn me out, and within minutes I was nodding. Closing the book, I rested my head on my arms and fell asleep.

I woke with a start to ﬁnd my leg being pulled on. Someone was cutting the ropes off my ankle. Moments later, Baldrick crawled from under the table. "Can you stand, my lord?"

I could. "Where is the guard?"

Percy entered the hall from behind the paneled wall next to the ﬁreplace. "Don't worry about him, my lord. His fellows invited him to celebrate Henry's victory with wine."

"So he's—" I made a horizontal motion with my hand. "Wonderful! Let's get to my room; I need to get dressed, and there are some things I want to take with me."

Halfway to my room we met several guards.

"We're drunk," I told my companions, and began to giggle and make faces.

"We are?" Percy was incredulous. "But I've had nothing to drink since . . ."

"Yes, we are drunk, Percy, and you are so drunk you are falling down." And I pushed him into the wall, where he promptly fell to his knees. Baldrick stopped to help Percy up. The guards, now within twenty feet of us, had so far noticed nothing. I put my arm around Percy and we kept walking.

Giggling, I said to Baldrick, "Where are we going now?"

"Oh, up to the tower," Baldrick played along. "You know I heard somebody kept a sheep up there?"

Percy gave me a puzzled look. "Really? Did you?"

Keeping my eyes on the approaching soldiers, I took a tighter grip on Percy's shoulder and spoke loudly for their beneﬁt. "I'm quite sure even the Yorkists would not sink so low." And I walked Percy into the wall. As Percy once again fell to his knees, the soldiers motioned us to stop.

"You!" One of them pointed at me. "Where's your doublet? Where's your sword?" The soldier looked at my white legs sticking out below the sheet. "And where's your hose?"

"Oh, well, uh . . . It has occurred to me I have not asked that particular question myself. Erm . . . well, you know, I'm not really sure where it is. That is, I . . . haven't seen it, in a few days, in fact. But I'm just going to get my hose up—up there." I pointed vaguely and giggled again.

"There's some really good wine in the cellar," Baldrick added, bobbing like a palsied man.

"Oh, yes," I giggled genuinely. "One sip of that wine and you'll be—erm . . ."

But the soldiers were already on their way. Baldrick helped Percy to his feet again and we ran up the stairs and into my room, where I barred the door.

"Now to business." I tried to rub my hands together and was mostly successful.

I yanked open my chest and began digging through it as Percy sat with a frown and put the Psalter on the table.

"Did either of you manage to get anything of my father's? His sword, or—?"

"We would have taken his sword, but neither of us could carry it, my lord," Baldrick took an apple from the table and cut it in half with his knife. "So, I got his dagger instead, but one of the soldiers must've taken it after we were killed."

"Yes." Tying the points on a black doublet, I turned to face him. "I've been meaning to ask you about that, Baldrick."

"Well, I ﬁgure it's like what happened to you, my lord," Baldrick said around a bite of apple, "except that it happened to us."

"I didn't like it at all," Percy put in.

"Oh, really, Percy, and just what part did you not like, the part where you died, or the part where you discovered you were alive again?"

"I didn't like getting stabbed, my lord, and now I've got this terrible headache."

"Me, too," said Baldrick.

"Um . . ." Percy pointed at my dwarf. Over in the far corner stood a large cage with a carefully locked door. In it stood the only being I knew who had a lower status than I, and he had been my prisoner for years.

"Ah." I crossed the room in a few strides and undid the locks. I unbarred the door to my room and held it open as the pitiful bundle of rags emerged from the cage.

"Thank you, Lord Edmund."

"As far as you're concerned, I'm dead, d'you hear me?"

"Gladly, my lord!"

"Yes, well, Tudor's men are all through the castle. You'd better make short work of your escape, or you may lose your head."

As the dwarf scuttled through the door, Percy said, "If they catch him and he loses his head, he'll _be_ short work!"

"He's already short, Percy. I doubt losing his head would make much difference."

"It might make a difference to him. But that isn't what I wanted to tell you." Percy opened the Psalter and pushed it across the table at me. "There's something in here I think you ought to read, my lord."

"Right now, Percy, with Henry's soldiers swarming all about us? Do you want to die again? I'm certainly not up for it." I closed the Psalter and stuffed it in my bag.

Baldrick spoke again. "At least they haven't put our heads on pikes, my lord."

I turned and stared. This was a statement I might have made not too long ago. "Yes, Baldrick, that is because we are no longer dead. Not only are we not dead, but our heads are still on our shoulders. People's heads are usually not put up on pikes until they have been cut off!"

This should have been my ﬁrst warning sign that we were all beginning to change, and all in different ways. Percy seemed more sensitive and thoughtful than usual; Baldrick appeared to be losing the intellectual advantage he had over me—and I was able to notice. In some small way I was sorry, because he'd been directly responsible for the surname I've carried these long years.

It was soon after Father took the throne and I realized I was a Prince of the Realm that I reckoned I needed to change my appearance and, so I thought, the way others perceived me. I decided I would take a nom de guerre, and declared myself The Black Vegetable. I suppose there are worse things one could call oneself.

When he heard my choice of name, Baldrick leaned in close and said, "My lord, wouldn't something like The Black Adder sound better?"

Of course it would! Why hadn't I thought of it ﬁrst? "No, wait—I think I have a better idea," I said. "What about . . . The Black Adder!"

To my shame, only Baldrick had been capable of coming up with a decent pseudonym at the time. If he hadn't, today I would be known as Edmund Blackvegetable. I can't imagine aspiring to the throne with such a name, particularly when Edmund I was called "The Magniﬁcent" and Edmund II was called "Ironside". As it was, the black clothes and the new way I wore my hair only elicited derision from my fellows and those who ranked higher than I. And of course, the more they mocked me, the tighter I held to my new image.

We were out of the castle and well away before any of us spoke. As we stood in the woods to the north of the castle and watched several dozens more of Henry Tudor's men slog through the mud to their King, Baldrick looked up at me.

"Where do we go from here, my lord?"

I was ready for that one. "We must take up new identities and leave our old lives behind!"

"How do we do that, my lord?" Percy asked.

"Well, ﬁrst, we take up new identities, of course."

"Yes, my lord."

"And second, we leave our old lives behind!"

"Does that mean I don't have to call you my lord anymore, my lord?"

I was taller than Baldrick by nearly eight inches, but sometimes he could make me feel very small. Nevertheless, I had to put my pride behind me, if only for a little while.

"Not when we're around anyone," I conceded. "I think we should go north."

"But it's colder north," Percy objected.

"Yes, it is."

"And there are Scotsmen north," he added.

"Percy, my face is known to Henry Tudor, and I dare not show it around here. Further, the life of any Plantagenet of York is not worth a groat. We have no choice but to go north."

"It was good of you to release the dwarf, my lord," Percy said, taking me unawares.

For a brief moment my heart was open to the heavens. Just as quickly I shut it.

I glared at both of them as horribly as I could. "Baldrick, Percy, I am not good. Remember that!"

"Yes, my lord," they answered together.

"Then let's get moving."

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**Henry Tudor (Henry VI of England) did everything he could to wipe out the previous royal family. Several branches were pretty much annihilated. Edmund and his cohorts in crime survive by going north. This is the beginning of their change. Please review and let me know what you think! Thanks for reading. :-)**


	3. Chapter 3

**In which Edmund and his two friends leave the Plantagenet castle and finally come to Elizabeth's court. **

**The usual disclaimer: I do not own Blackadder or any of the characters associated with him in any medium; all historical characters are treated as fairly (cough) as possible.**

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_**First Interlude, 1499-1558**_

Very close to the border of the Kingdom of Scotland, we found a farm that had been abandoned. Whatever ill wind had blown the plague through had passed away with the inhabitants. We moved in and began our education in poverty. Percy and I quickly lost our rounded, well-fed look. Baldrick, who had survived on next to nothing when he was in my service, seemed to get along just ﬁne. Such crops as we could grow were ravaged by the weather, or insects or animals destroyed them. Whatever livestock we could ﬁnd and breed were often stolen by other people in the same straits as we were.

We rarely referred to our previous life. There was little time for small talk at ﬁrst; our days from sunup to sundown were spent toiling in order to survive. Gradually, though, we made the cottage a solid refuge against the elements.

There was always the danger I might be caught again by Tudor soldiers, or turned in by a neighbor for whatever reward he might get. To avoid this I put away my ﬁne black clothes and wore the coarse sack and bare legs of a peasant. I was so determined not to be noticed that I developed the coarsest appearance of the three of us. I let my hair and beard grow out; much to my surprise, it came in wavy at ﬁrst and within a year was curly. I could only attribute it to what I began to refer to as "Mother's gift"—Percy and Baldrick experienced the same change. My hair hung below my shoulders and I tied it back with a thong. My beard grew and I kept it trimmed, but long enough to cover my neck.

As time passed, we fell into a routine and assumed the tasks for which we were most suited. Percy took up the general housekeeping. He did the cleaning and washing, and prepared the meals.

To Baldrick fell the planting, care of the crops and harvest. He seemed partial to turnips and grew scads of the things. Percy boiled them in venison broth, or sliced them and roasted them in the ﬁre. We learned by trial and error how to set snares for rabbits and birds, and how to catch ﬁsh. We learned how to make crude bows and arrows and hunt "the king's deer." And thus we survived the reign of Henry VII of England.

He was dead only eleven years after he had taken the throne. In those eleven years he had done everything he could to erase the names of Richard IV and his entire family from the pages of history. It was as if none of us had ever existed. This was a blessing to me after he died, as I was able to start a new life for myself, though it angered me all the same.

We almost had a King Arthur, you know. I don't mean one like the legend but a real man, Henry VII's ﬁrstborn son who was born 20th September 1486 and who, one hopes, would have made a good king. Unfortunately we will never know, because he died of sickness the 2nd of April, 1502.

Upon his death in 1509, Henry VII's second son became king. This fellow, who started out thin and healthy and ended up fat and sick, ruled for 40 years and in that time did more to corrupt the throne than any ﬁve other kings. He was Henry VIII.

I took great care to keep my Plantagenet birth a secret from everyone, and took my old nom de guerre as my surname, becoming Edmund Blackadder. The next step, while keeping my head low (and off the block), was to take the gold I'd managed to keep hoarded away and use it to increase my fortune. On a trip to London I had a set of clothes made of very ﬁne fabrics, then bought a house in Billingsgate. With Lord Percy at my elbow I began to make the rounds, getting to know who was whom and who was not; who was important, who had power and inﬂuence, who was rich, and who was willing or prone to part with their riches.

I stayed away from the King. His ﬁrst wife, Catharine of Aragon, had only the one Hapsburg lip, and I thought the man blessed in that regard. Before long, though, he began to take a series of mistresses, among them Mary Boleyn. Then, growing tired even of them, he began to pursue Mary's sister Anne. I won't go through all six wives, some of them only girls when he married them, and the annulments, the excommunications, and the beheadings.

Especially the beheadings. He hadn't been on the throne eighteen months when he had two men executed. Henry was a cruel and murderous king. Some say he had as many as 72,000 men and women executed, most by beheading, during his reign. The last ten years of his life were the worst. As I say, I kept my head down.

Anne's ﬁrst child, a daughter, was born in 1533, and they named her Elizabeth. If it weren't for Henry and Anne's machinations with the Roman and English churches, along with a little work by his last wife Catherine Parr, Elizabeth would never have been able to take the throne. Henry VIII died in Whitehall Palace on the 28th of January, 1543. There followed Edward VI, that poor boy king who lasted ﬁve years, until he was fourteen. Then Lady Jane Gray, egged on by Seymour, who lasted only nine days. And ﬁnally in July of 1553 Mary I, called by almost everyone "Bloody Mary.".

I continued to take advantage of the confusion of those years to build my holdings. I managed to buy another house in Drury Lane. I also purchased the land our old castle had been on, the one we had lived in when Henry Tudor took the throne. The castle still stood, though it was in very unstable condition, having been abandoned when Tudor moved the Court to Westminster and moved between there and York Palace, Richmond, Greenwich and Windsor. It was an old castle, predating Fotheringhay in its foundations, and I loved it.

There I moved such artifacts as I had managed to take from it early on, while Tudor was still solidifying his hold on the throne. I hired workmen to repair the roofs and to knock down one wing that had collapsed in on itself and was useless, along with a large section of wall. The castle changed shape and became more square than in the past. I did all this quietly, with the help of Percy and Baldrick, and waited for my opportunity.

When Mary came to the throne, I thought perhaps my time had come. It wasn't long, however, before I saw she was following in the same bloody footprints as her father. Mary was staunchly Catholic and loyal to the church of Rome, and she made it illegal for anyone to disagree with her. Attending services in protesting churches was forbidden and attending services in Catholic churches was required. Disobedience brought death by beheading. After one small misadventure, I vacated the house in Drury Lane and retreated to my castle.

Mary sickened and died in 1558, and not a moment too soon The entire country heaved a sigh of relief but were afraid to inhale again lest they be disappointed. We had suffered under oppressive tyranny for nearly ﬁfty years, and we were weary beyond imagining.

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**This chapter is short, but I promise I'll make up for it in the next few chapters! History included here is pretty much accurate, but I claim the privilege of artistic license for any mistakes I may have made. Thanks for reading, and if you'd do me the honor of reviewing, I would be so pleased. :-)**


	4. Chapter 4

From here on there will be canon and my own stuff, well-mixed up. :-) I have done my best to transcribe dialogue from the episodes referenced; any mistakes are mine and mine alone. Most history is fairly accurate, and any deviations therefrom are merely the products of a fevered imagination. The usual disclaimer: I do not own Blackadder or any of the characters originally associated with him; I have written this for my own entertainment and am making no money from it.

Thanks for reading!

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Middle of July to end of December 1559

Edmund Lord Blackadder had been away from Court for two weeks. At the end of that time Elizabeth, by the grace of God Queen of England and Ireland etc., had gotten so bored she thought her head might just fall off her neck and role around on the tiled ﬂoor of her Privy Chamber. It wasn't that she didn't have plenty to do. There were meetings with her advisors about Mary Queen of Scots' declaration that she was Queen of England, and an envoy from Spain had arrived earlier that week without having sent an announcement ahead, so that he had to be presented to her between a galliard and a privy meeting with Dudley, her Master of Horse. Without having had time to consider the situation, she had had to listen to him, consider his concerns, and give her consent or denial to his petitions.

But it was the moments in between when things seemed to fall ﬂat; Lord Melchett, of all her advisors the one she trusted most, had run out of new jokes and stories after the second day. Melchett, nearly six and a half feet tall, was a sad-faced man with a very serious spirit. She couldn't be angry with him—he was trying. She shifted her weight on the throne and listened as he paced back and forth before her, his long dark robes sweeping the ﬂoor in his wake.

"And so, Majesty, legend has it that the Duke of Edinburgh fell off the ramparts, whereupon a mad dog bit his neck most viciously."

"Oh, Lord Melchett, you've already told that one. Tell me another."

"I'm afraid, madam, that was the last new tale I have. Unless you'd like to hear about the amazing bird called a Turkey."

"Oh, was it found in Turkey?"

"No, madam, they do say it was discovered in Mexico."

"Well, then it should be called a Mexico. Tell me about the Mexico, Lord Melchett."

As her advisor droned on, Elizabeth sighed deeply and thought back to the ﬁrst time Lord Edmund Blackadder was presented to her at court, in late January of this year.

She had been crowned only ten days, and her head was reeling with the number of new courtiers and petitioners being presented before her. She was receiving visitors in the Presence Chamber, and the only thing that had made her day halfway tolerable was Lord Robert Dudley, resplendent in dull olive with dark blue showing through the slashing of his doublet.

He had come a long way since they were children in the royal classroom together. When he had married Amy Robsart in 1550, some had said it was for the very large dowry which came his way, and she thought it likely, especially since their imprisonment in London at the same time, he in the Beauchamp Tower, she in the Bell Tower. They saw each other often, and the old friendship had grown to love. Still, in his own way he loved Amy, and there was no doubt Amy loved him . . . Elizabeth had stolen another glance in his direction when there was a small stir and the general noise in the chamber was replaced by a hush.

Lord Melchett leaned over and spoke. "Your Majesty, Lord Edmund Blackadder."

She turned her gaze to the man on one knee before her. "You may rise, Lord Blackadder."

He rose and stood before her, his eyes respectfully downcast.

When she asked, "Are you here to pay court to your Sovereign, Lord Blackadder?" he raised his eyes brieﬂy and said, "Yes, your Majesty." They spoke brieﬂy and she dismissed him. Robert was still standing about ﬁfteen feet away to her left, and she immediately turned her gaze on him and smiled. The only thing Elizabeth remembered about her ﬁrst meeting with Edmund Blackadder was that he was entirely unremarkable, just one of many faces who had been paraded before her that day.

In the weeks following, though, Lord Blackadder was in the Presence Chamber nearly every day. She watched him carefully. He was courteous and intelligent; his manners impeccable. She tested his knowledge at every turn, changing topics in mid stride, and he kept up with her but never charged ahead, which would have been clever but taken as rude. She did the same thing with languages, switching from English to Latin to French to Italian without warning. He slightly raised a mocking eyebrow and smiled, answering in kind. She spoke to him in classical Greek and he smiled again.

"I fear, Majesty, I have not had the privilege of learning Greek." He did not beg her forgiveness, nor did he grovel as some were wont to do, and she found this pleasantly refreshing.

He was quick-minded, drily so; sometimes his pleasantries were so clever she believed she was the only one who truly understood the full meaning behind them. He was witty, his humor quietly clever as opposed to the loud ribaldry so many courtiers brought with them. Moreover, he was darkly handsome and well-formed with long legs and the physical grace common to a practiced swordsman. If nothing else, he provided a good distraction on the days Robert Dudley was not around.

There was only one thing that bothered her, and that was that when he was in her presence he often stood with his head down, as if he did not dare to look her in the face. Most of the time he seemed to be studying the hem of her gown. And when he did look up, there was something about him that disquieted her, though she could never quite put her ﬁnger on it.

She had seen past his smooth words and ﬁne manners, his exquisitely crafted conversation, his veneer of politeness and deference—he was there for one purpose only, and that was to reap whatever beneﬁt he could from being at Court. He cared nothing at all for the Queen or quite possibly, she thought, for the country over which she ruled.

It was during Lord Blackadder's ﬁrst months that Lord Melchett decided Blackadder was his enemy and to be gotten rid of at all costs. Melchett was subtle, slyly denigrating at every opportunity. This surprised her, since it was well known that Melchett already had a lover and as an advisor was not courting the Queen. It was to Blackadder's credit that whenever he caught Melchett at it, he didn't often repay in kind. But when he did, the words that passed between them might have been swords, and Elizabeth loved to watch the sparks ﬂy.

Things went on this way until he met Kate. That had been, oh, right after they had gotten back from Windsor, where the Queen and her court observed Maundy Thursday and Easter. She ﬁrst heard about Kate from Lord Melchett, who did his best to make her think Blackadder was interested in boys. Which would mean, of course, that Blackadder was not interested in her.

At ﬁrst there had been some mix-up or other, and Blackadder had been led to believe Kate was a boy. But when he found she was a woman, he fell madly in love with her; it was evident for all to see. He was with her nearly every waking moment and no wonder, if what Elizabeth had been told was true. Kate had eyes bluer than the sky, hair the color of honey, and the beauty of her skin rivaled Elizabeth's.

Lord Blackadder's sudden and thorough absence from court was noted, particularly by Lord Robert Dudley. Dudley may have been a married man, but that didn't stop him coming to Court and ﬂirting most outrageously with the Queen whenever he could. Right after she had come to the throne, Elizabeth had made Dudley her Master of Horse, and in the ﬁrst year alone had bestowed upon him titles and lands beyond that which seemed proper. The gossips had said they were having an affair, even that she was pregnant with his child. Of course she wasn't pregnant, but that did not stop the malicious speculation.

Even now, nothing had changed. Tongues wagged viciously and when upbraided for gossip, those involved said they were outraged for poor Amy Robsart's sake, Amy being Dudley's wife. Blackadder missing was not a good situation, and Elizabeth's enemies took as much advantage of it as Dudley did. There were those at Court who shook their heads and said it was a shame Lord Blackadder was gone.

It didn't seem likely he would return. He and Kate were often seen in the parks, Blackadder acting like a moonstruck calf. And for her part, Kate adored Edmund Blackadder.

Then one day he came to Court with a petition. He entered the Privy Chamber and knelt before the Queen. She was peevish toward him, and didn't know why.

"Hello, stranger."

In his excitement, he completely forgot to address her by her title. "I seek your permission to wed."

"So I hear." She turned to her advisor, who in his brown robes resembled nothing more than a hulking bear. "Melchy, what do you think of all this?"

It was the ﬁrst time she had used the diminutive with her advisor, and it seemed to make him uneasy, if only brieﬂy. He put his hands behind his back, clearly savoring the moment. A word from him and Blackadder could be ruined.

"I must confess, madam, I am astonished that Blackadder could possibly have eyes for any other woman than yourself."

Elizabeth accepted that and reprimanded Melchett for his groveling, but in the end she relented and gave Blackadder permission. Her mood did not improve, even though she knew she would see Dudley again at supper.

It seemed this marriage would be for love. Edmund Blackadder loved Kate. There was no dowry, nothing material to be gained in his marriage to her. Only love, and probably lots of children.

At least, it seemed so until the wedding. Until his old childhood friend showed up. It was funny, looking back, that Lord Blackadder seemed to think of Flashheart as his best friend. It would have been funny at the time, if Kate hadn't proved so shallow and run off with the fellow. That had been the last Sunday of June.

And here Elizabeth was, with her favorite advisor strutting around in front of her, bent at the waist, his arms tucked in at his sides. When he began to imitate the ungodly noise that Mexico bird made, the Queen's patience reached its end.

"Lord Melchett! You may stop." Even Dudley stopped laughing when she used that voice. Her advisor unbent and sheepishly returned to the side of her throne.

"How long has Lord Blackadder been gone?"

Melchett was not happy to mention Lord Blackadder. "Mm . . . ﬁfteen days, your Majesty."

"Well, send for him! I want him here. Now."

Upon hearing about the imminent return of Lord Blackadder, the court heaved a sigh of relief and Dudley suddenly left for home and his "beloved Amy".

In not too great a time, Blackadder appeared. Removing his hat, he knelt before her. Elizabeth said nothing, observing him for a long minute. He seemed to be unchanged, unless one were to remark that his skin had gone beyond its usual pallor. The long ﬁngers of his right hand barely contrasted with his hat's white ostrich plume as it wavered in the slight breeze coming from the open windows.

"You may rise," she said ﬁnally. "We have missed your company, Lord Blackadder."

"Yes, your Majesty." He glanced up then, his eyes calm, his face still. Almost as quickly he lowered his eyes. "I regret my absence, and plead your forgiveness."

"We forgive you." She held out her hand to him, and he rose and bent over it. "Attend us, Blackadder. Melchett, stand aside for Lord Blackadder."

"Indeed, madam." Melchett left his station and began walking slowly around the room, never turning his back on the Queen. He was surreptitiously stretching his legs; he'd been standing beside her since after breakfast that morning, and she knew he was happy to move.

Blackadder stood to her right all the rest of that day, while Lord Melchett roamed around the chamber at will. She and Melchett and a stream of guests and visitors kept up a steady ﬂow of conversation. Though there were many opportunities for Blackadder to interject, he remained silent. He was also made to sit next to her at table for supper. He was polite and answered well when spoken to; otherwise, he did not talk. Dinner was followed by a play in the Presence Chamber. He was not dismissed until well after ten o'clock, the last guests having departed.

"Lord Blackadder."

"Yes, your Majesty."

"You may leave us."

"Thank you, Majesty." He bent over her outstretched hand and kissed it.

"And Blackadder."

Blackadder released her hand and straightened. "Yes, Majesty."

"We expect to see you in better form tomorrow."

"I shall try not to disappoint, your Majesty."

Then the imp in her came out. "Good. Because if you do come in tomorrow sour and cloudy of brow, I shall have your morose head cut off. And _then_ we shall see about your mood!"

Blackadder bowed. "Well, quite, Majesty."

She waved him from the room. After he had backed to the door and it closed behind him, she giggled brieﬂy. His face had gone milk white!

The snow came early, the wind whipping down from the north with a ferocity that matched emotions in court. But the Lords and Ladies maintained their good manners, in spite of the Scottish problem, in spite of the French problem, in spite of the Dudley problem. For in deﬁance of Lord Blackadder's presence, Lord Robert Dudley continued to court the Queen much more seriously than any other married man and, if the truth be told, much more seriously than many of the unmarried men. Those fellows didn't expect to be taken seriously. They courted because they hoped for favor, and because it was expected of them. But Dudley, who never brought his wife to court because he didn't want to remind the Queen that her favorite courtier was a married man, hoped for far more than favor. The only thing that kept the court from exploding and plastering the walls of the Presence Chamber with bits of velvet, silk, and lace was the approaching celebration of the Christe masse.

There would be the special services in the Queen's chapel, followed by a sumptuous feast, dancing, games, a masque, and various other entertainments. The courtiers and various lords and ladies threw themselves into the planning with an intensity probably not seen since the days of Henry VIII, and everybody remembered how he liked a party. Preparations for the twelve days' celebration went nonstop, even interrupting the meeting with the French envoy, who supposedly was desirous to repair relations with England after the disaster wrought by Mary. He was made to wait while a new play was discussed for ﬁfteen minutes. All stood patiently; the Court waited on the Queen, not the other way around. The play was approved, and the French envoy resumed his business.

Finally the last tentative agreement was made, the last word was spoken, the last foreign dignitary took his leave. The porter backed out of the doors, closing them as he went. The Queen stood.

"I shall take dinner in the privy chamber," she announced. "Lord Melchett, you shall attend me."

"At your will, madam." Melchett relaxed his posture and subtly stretched his back.

"Lord Blackadder, you shall attend me also."

"Yes, Majesty."

She left the room, followed by her maids of honor.

"Edmund Blackadder watched as the women followed her out, the silks of their gowns glistening in the sunlight from the window. None of them were dressed nearly as sumptuously as the Queen, but their gowns alone were probably worth more than many other ladies' complete wardrobes. Melchett swept ahead of him and he smiled at the man's pride. He had been the Queen's chief advisor since she had ascended to the throne, and a friend and advisor before that, even back to when she was in the Tower. Whereas Blackadder was a courtier, Lord Cecil Melchett was a solid and sober man, and for that reason was limited in his behavior, no matter how leery of Blackadder he might be. Blackadder was expected to be ﬂamboyant and self-assured, to woo the Queen, to compete for her hand with all the other men who regularly attended court.

He had never been in the Queen's Privy Chamber, and was not surprised to ﬁnd it elegantly decorated. There was enough gold in the room to buy both of his houses and the Blackadder castle and lands four or ﬁve times over. Covered dishes had been placed on the table, silver and gold sparkling in the cool light from the window.

The Queen, resplendent in apple green silk and pearls sufﬁcient to ransom a small kingdom on the Continent, sat elevated at the head of the table. To her right and left were chairs for her guests. Melchett bowed and sat and he and the Queen waited for Blackadder, who stepped around his chair from the left and sat forward, making sure his sword was out of way of the legs and that the dagger sheathed at the small of his back did not mar the chair panel behind him.

Elizabeth tilted her head. "How kind of you to ﬁnally join us, Lord Blackadder."

Melchett smirked. "No doubt, madam, Lord Blackadder has many pressing things on his mind."

Veiling his discomfort, Blackadder took a sip of wine from the goblet beside his plate.

"Well," said the Queen as she lifted the lid on a plate of sliced beef, "he's going to have one more thing pressing on his mind before dinner's through."

Blackadder tilted his head right back at Elizabeth. "Your Majesty, might one ask what thing that might be?"

"Every courtier must bring me a gift in celebration of the New Year's Day. You are new at Court, so you did not know. Now you do. We expect you to bring us something wonderful and satisfying."

Blackadder lifted his goblet and took a larger mouthful of wine than he wanted, nearly choking. To cover he swallowed all at once, then took another, smaller sip. "Truly, Majesty, I am at a loss."

The Queen herself reﬁlled his wine goblet. "Are you, Lord Blackadder?" The silk of her skirts rustled as she turned to her advisor. "Melchy, do you think a courtier to the throne would dare to be 'at a loss' when his Sovereign requests him to bring her a New Year's gift?"

"Oh, no, madam. Such a thing would be unthinkable. Surely Lord Blackadder is a very creative man and will outdo us all."

Blackadder took another sip of wine and set his goblet down carefully. "Then tell me, Lord Melchett, what are you going to give her Majesty?"

Melchett picked a dried plum from a bowl and popped it into his mouth. "A courtier should not play unfairly, even with an advisor such as myself." He discarded the pit into his hand and put it on his plate. "I will not reveal that secret, Blackadder, even—or especially—to you. Besides, if I were to tell you here, there should be no surprise for the Queen."

"Yes," Elizabeth said, "but you know I would still act surprised, Melchett."

"Indeed you would, madam," Melchett said.

She put a slice of beef between two pieces of bread and passed it to Blackadder, giving him a look and saying, "You'd better eat something, don't you think?"

He took the sandwich and put it on his plate, not taking his eyes from Lord Melchett; Blackadder was a bit provoked. "This leads me to think, Lord Melchett, that I ﬁnd you as unprepared as you ﬁnd me."

"Hah!" Melchett's face grew even redder. "You suppose, sir, to call me a liar?"

"No, merely a _menteur_ and a _ﬂatteur_." He took more wine.

Melchett, unbelievably, had no French. "What is this? Speak English if you wish to insult me, Blackadder!"

"I don't _wish_ to insult you, I already have. I may do so again, should I _wish_ to." Edmund, noting the absence of his title, didn't even use Melchett's name.

"Gentlemen!" Elizabeth had a tone and she used it. "Let us eat our dinner in peace. We will settle this dispute for you. The two of you will present your gifts to me after all the others have done so. I will decide whose gift of all of them is the most wonderful."

Blackadder sat blank-faced. "Ah."

"And you'd better eat something, _don't you think_, Lord Blackadder?"

Feeling a bit lightheaded, he took a bite of the bread and meat. She could have asked almost anything else of him—a poem, or to lead the dance, a joust or a duello with another courtier—even that he sing a song for her before the whole court, and he would have been happy to do his best. But to try to outdo the entire court with a gift for the Queen . . .

And the new year was only ten days away.

That evening Blackadder walked into his house and slammed the door behind himself. Baldrick was at the ﬁreplace, laying a small ﬁre for the night. Percy was lolling on a bench near the ﬁreplace, a book in his hand.

"Edmund, I've been waiting for you! What news from court?" Percy closed the book and stood, all eagerness.

"If you would trouble to present yourself at court rather often than you attend the play-houses, Percy, you would know." Blackadder was not happy, and he had a headache from the wine. He particularly was not in the mood for Percy, but here he was and he would have to make the best of it.

"Well, yes, my lord, but I do have to leave soon." Percy stood corrected but dared to hint to Blackadder to hurry.

"Oh, it's that damned Melchett and the New Year's Day gift!"

"I beg your pardon, my lord?"

Baldrick stood, having gotten the ﬁre going. "The Queen requires all her courtiers to give her a gift on the ﬁrst day of the year." He looked at Blackadder. "Whoever's gift outshines all the rest might just have a chance of ousting Robert Dudley as her favorite."

"Precisely, Baldrick, and where I'm going to ﬁnd a gift to top them all is a mystery to me."

Edmund sat down at the table, grabbing an apple and cutting it up with his knife. Percy joined him. "But what does Lord Melchett have to do with this?"

"Lord 'Look what I'm giving the Queen for New Year's' Melchett?" Blackadder speared another apple with his knife and left the knife standing in the apple. "Melchett is giving her Majesty a pair of shooting gloves made from the softest doe skin, lined in silk, with jewels on the backs and the ﬁnest sable around the wrists." He pulled the knife out of the apple and stabbed it again. "I cannot hope to even approach such lavishness."

Baldrick picked up the apple core Percy had thrown on the ﬂoor and took a bite of it. "That's true, my lord, you've only got the one set of clothes yourself."

"Yes, don't remind me, Baldrick, or that apple core may be all you eat for a week."

"You could give her your own gloves," Percy suggested, indicating Blackadder's gloves on the table. They were black, embroidered on the backs with silver thread.

"That's a wonderful suggestion, isn't it, marrow-brain? Give the Queen of England my worn gloves, which are much too large and clearly made for a man."

They were all silent for a minute. Blackadder chewed on a ﬁngernail and Percy took the knife out of the apple and tossed the apple to Baldrick, who paced as he made fast work of it.

Baldrick threw the half-eaten apple into the ﬁre, an extravagance and one that obviously pleased him.

"My lord, I have a plan."

Blackadder got up and stood before the ﬁre, warming his back. "Oh, no, Baldrick, not another one of your plans. We all know how well your plan for me to get in good with Queen Mary worked. I was lucky to end up with my head, though I nearly lost my life's fortune."

"But it's a good plan, my lord, a cunning plan."

"Oh, I'm sure it is." He caught Percy's eye, but Percy just shrugged.

"You might hear him out, Edmund."

Blackadder sighed and rolled his eyes. "Very well, let us hear your plan, Baldrick."

"Well, you might give her yourself, my lord."

"Yes, and you can be thankful I don't chuck you out into the street right now—"

"It doesn't sound that bad, you know," Percy offered. "Nobody else at court will be giving themselves to the Queen."

"No," Baldrick said, "only Dudley."

"And how am I supposed to give myself to her," Blackadder asked. "Tie a red ribbon around myself and come marching in like a Maypole?"

"You'll think of something, Edmund," Percy said staunchly.

Edmund, Lord Blackadder, looked at Percy in wonder. "I take it back, Percy. You don't have the brain of a marrow after all."

"Oh, thank you, my lord! You've made me a happy man." Percy grabbed his cloak and gloves and left.

Blackadder waited until the door closed after him. "You have the brain of a radish."

That night Blackadder lie awake, his hands behind his pillow. Sleep had not yet come to him; his mind would not let him rest. Try as he might, he could think of nothing but the New Year's gift. Doubtless Robert Dudley would give the Queen something that would have a special meaning to just the two of them, and Melchett already had a portion of his vast resources spent. Blackadder understood there were ten diamonds and a dozen garnets on the back of each glove. He sighed. He owned nothing of value really, except his houses and the land his castle was on. And his horse Black Arrow, and he couldn't give the Queen his horse. She already owned some of the ﬁnest horses in the land. And besides, he'd had Black Arrow for four years; he wasn't sure he could part with the animal.

It looked like he was going to have to follow Baldrick's plan. No other man would be giving himself to the Queen, so his gift would deﬁnitely be unique. If she liked it, he had a good chance of beating out even Robert Dudley for her affections. It was a huge gamble, but if he won, it would deﬁnitely have been worth all the worry. If he lost, however, she might have him whipped. Or worse, she might have him beheaded, and it wasn't likely he'd survive that.

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Thanks for reading, and if you would do me the honor of reviewing, it would be much appreciated.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hi, sorry so long for the 5th chapter, but here it is, finally! In which Blackadder finds himself getting deeper and deeper in over his head. As always, a bit of canon and a lot of imagination in between. Please read and review. Thanks for reading! :-)**

**The usual disclaimer, which I forget about half the time: Blackadder is not mine, though I wish he were . . . he belongs to Richard Curtis, Rowan Atkinson, and numerous others. This is written totally for my own entertainment.**

* * *

**New Year's Day, 1560**

Blackadder was admitted into the Presence Chamber and looked around, assessing the crowd. All the regulars were there; the advisors, of course, chief among them Lord Melchett, standing smugly to the Queen's right and looking even more bearish in a new brown robe and hat. There was her chief physician Marbeck in buff and green, and Dudley all in blue. Blackadder felt even more keenly his lack of new clothes for this special occasion, but held his head high and swept his gaze around the room again.

The women in gowns of every conceivable color shone like jewels, but none of them could outshine the Queen. She wore a new gown, of heavy cream silk embroidered with gold threads, with hundreds of pearls sewn onto the bodice, sleeves, and overskirt. Several strands of pearls draped over her breast, and in each ear she wore matching pearls with large drops. With the white ruff framing her face and burnished red hair, the Queen shone like the sun. All the other women were mere moonlets compared to her.

One by one the courtiers were called before the Queen, to bring their offerings. From love notes and books to the watch set into a bracelet of gold and surrounded by jewels given her by Dudley, all gifts were admired. Finally she called Melchett.

"And what do you have for me, Lord Melchett?"

He chuckled disparagingly, that low ho-ho-ho that Blackadder had quickly come to dislike. No, hate. He hated Melchett's fake laugh, along with his smarmy grin and those watery eyes that reminded him of an aged hound.

"Oh, your Majesty, only a small token of my great appreciation—"

"Yes, shut it, Melchy, and give me my present."

He handed her the gloves. She admired them and tried them on, turning her hands so the jewels reﬂected like a thousand little lightenings.

"They are lovely. I shall wear them to chapel." She took them off and handed them to Nursie, who carefully stacked them with the other gifts.

"Lord Blackadder. Come forward."

Blackadder walked to within eight feet of her throne and stopped. There was an exclamation, cut off sharply: his hands were empty. This did not bode well for the newest courtier. The Presence Chamber grew quiet.

"Our present, Lord Blackadder."

He took another two steps forward and stood, his arms at his sides, his hat in his right hand.

"Well?"

Blackadder spoke and every man and woman in the room heard him. "Your Majesty, I offer you my life."

A collective gasp went up from the assembled Lords and Ladies.

"Oh, he wants you to cut off his head now!" Nursie was ecstatic.

Lord Melchett sneered, then stopped. His gloves suddenly paled in comparison with a man's life given in sacriﬁce for the Queen.

When she spoke, her voice was cool. "You must think a great deal of yourself to consider your life a worthy gift, Blackadder."

A snicker burst out by the door and was as quickly silenced. The Lords and Ladies stood watching the two opposites—the Queen all aﬁre in pearls and gold, and the man standing coolly before her in silver-trimmed black, with satin the color of blood showing through the slashing of his doublet, his pale skin a stark contrast to his dark eyes and hair.

Blackadder, having nothing to say, knelt and bowed his head before his Queen.

The Court stood in stunned silence. No one moved. The maidens of honor stood wide-eyed, and not a one blinked. Lord Melchett himself was motionless, his face redder than it had possibly ever been. Nursie sat staring up at the Queen. And the Queen stood up, her gaze never leaving the bowed head of the man on his knee before her.

Her deep, slow intake of breath was audible to all, there was such quiet. When she spoke, her voice was severe.

"We will discuss your offer, Lord Blackadder. You will see us in our Privy Chamber in ten minutes." She glanced at Melchett. "Alone." Then she stepped down from the throne and glided from the room, leaving Blackadder on the ﬂoor.

This was a snub of the ﬁrst proportion. Whispered conversation began to circle the room, and as Blackadder got to his feet, the whisper grew to a buzz and then a roar. He stood before the empty throne, speechless. Then Nursie spoke up.

"It looks like you've upset my little lambkin now!"

As he made his way through the throng he heard Melchett chuckle behind him.

The Gentleman Usher showed him into the Privy Chamber. He felt cold through and through; the candelabra and the ﬂaming log in the huge ﬁreplace could not warm him. As the doors closed behind him, he thought he was alone. Then he saw the Queen sitting at her desk, her back to him. She made him wait. He nervously wanted to clear his throat but didn't dare, and settled for moistening his lips with his tongue instead.

After several minutes, she stood and faced him. He had never seen her angry, and her visage was daunting.

"Hell's teeth, Blackadder!"

"Majesty?" The curse surprised him, especially coming from the Queen.

"You've put us—and yourself—in an extremely trying situation."

He had no answer.

"Do you understand the insult you have handed every man in that room? If you are not killed before the week is out, I shall be surprised."

"Yes, Majesty."

"I have only been on the throne for a year, but I believe tonight I have seen enough foolishness for twenty."

"Yes, Majesty."

"Hell's teeth!" She strode to the wall and back again. "I must now either reject your impossible offer, or accept it. If I reject it, I am made a laughingstock and you are ruined, possibly for life. If you live that long."

"Yes, Majesty."

"And quit saying 'yes Majesty', Blackadder. You sound like a parrot."

"Yes, Majesty."

"Did you not hear me!" She slammed the table with her open hand. "I should have you whipped for your insolence!"

He was silent.

"If I accept your offer, the hatred Robert Dudley suffers will be mild compared to what you will feel! You may be called my prostitute! Or worse. And you may ﬁnd yourself dead far sooner than you'd like."

She sat again and inhaled deeply once more. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter. "What do you mean by it, Blackadder?"

His mouth was dry, and he was very aware that his answer could mean his life. He meant to gain favor, not die, and here he was without an excuse for what he had done. She would listen to his words and watch his face and know what was in his heart, she was that discerning. What could he tell her that wouldn't sound patently false? Suddenly he imagined he heard Baldrick saying, "You could tell her the truth, my lord." It sounded so real he looked behind himself to see if Baldrick had been let into the room.

"I'm waiting for your answer, sir."

He swung back to her and moistened his lips with his tongue. It took a great deal of effort to keep his hands and his voice from trembling. "Madam, my fortunes are very small. Even were I to sell what little I possess, I could not possibly hope to raise enough money before tonight to give a gift worthy of you. Therefore, I offer you the thing I value most in the world—myself."

She studied his face carefully. By the virgin, he was telling the truth! "You must be a very desperate man."

"Somewhat, Majesty."

"You realize that if I accept your gift, I can make you do anything?"

Blackadder swallowed, but his gaze did not waiver. "Yes, your Majesty."

"I can send you anywhere, do anything with you, even order you to put your head on the block for me, and you would not be able to refuse."

Again the color drained from his face, as it had not when she'd threatened to have him whipped. "Yes, Majesty, I quite understand."

Suddenly her expression changed from wrathful to impish. "We accept the gift of your life, though what use we are going to make of it, we do not know."

Blackadder knelt then, partly out of respect and partly because his knees had given way. He bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, fearing he might faint. "Thank you for honoring me, your Majesty."

"You may not be so thankful this time next year. Give us your hand."

He looked up and she was holding out her hand to him. Not knowing what else to do, he took it and she helped him to stand.

"You may leave us now, Lord Blackadder." She walked to the door and opened it. Just outside was the Gentleman Usher. "Lord Blackadder will be staying at Court tonight. See to it he has a room with the ﬁreplace lit and water for a bath. And a fresh mattress."

The Usher bowed and Blackadder followed him away from the Privy Chamber and down the hall, wondering not for the only time in the months and years that followed what he had gotten himself into. He was not encouraged when word got out that Dudley received a rather large gold plate from the Queen, and he had received nothing.

**February to May, 1560**

It didn't take him long to ﬁnd out exactly what it meant to be "the Queen's man." He must come to court any time she called for him, and no excuse was tolerated. It didn't matter if it was the middle of the coldest night or noon of the hottest day, he was expected to arrive promptly after the messenger delivered her summons, and he must be neat, clean, and never dull of wit. He was tested beyond endurance the ﬁrst week, and began to get very tired. In his less-than-optimum state he began to suspect he was being laughed at behind his back. Finally there was a night when he was not called, and he slept till nearly noon the next day.

After a very late breakfast which rolled into lunch, Blackadder having missed meals for the last two days, he tried to teach Baldrick how to add using some dried beans. Baldrick's behavior was increasingly disconcerting. Some days he was like the old Baldrick, and Blackadder could have a decent conversation with him. Other days, like this one, Baldrick would suddenly forget all his maths or how to write.

Blackadder counted the beans slowly, moving them from one side of the table to the other as he did so.

". . . One, two, three, four, so how many are there?"

Baldrick, looking right at the beans, answered "Three."

"What?" Blackadder was positively disconcerted.

"And that one," Baldrick pointed at the fourth bean standing a little apart from its fellows.

"Three," Blackadder said as to a child, "and that one, so, if I add that one to the three, what will I have?"

"Some beans," declared Baldrick.

They went on like this for a few moments more and then Lord Percy, who'd been at court a great deal since Blackadder's offer had been accepted, burst into the room wearing a ruff of enormous size and said the Queen wanted him right away. At that moment, Baldrick got the answer and told Blackadder there were four beans. But it was too late; the Queen wanted Blackadder and he had to leave immediately. Percy's attention to fashion brought the ridicule it deserved, and Blackadder in his sensible ruff left for the palace alone.

He was shown to the Privy Chamber, where the Queen sat with Nursie, who was doing sewing on what looked like a prisoner's blouse. Not that many of them were in the cells long enough to receive a blouse, but it did keep her busy. Lord Melchett, looking particularly smug, stood beside the throne.

It turned out Melchett had bad news: the latest Lord High Executioner was dead. Blackadder could not have cared less; there was a new one every week, it seemed. Nobody was immune from the headsman's axe, not even the headsman himself.

Turning to the Queen, Melchett said, "I have taken the liberty, ma'am, of drawing up a list of suitable candidates." Ever helpful, Lord Melchett.

"Oh, good-o! Let's hear it." The Queen got excited over the strangest things, Blackadder thought.

Melchett unrolled a scroll and began to read. "List for the post of Lord High Executioner. Lord Blackadder. . ."

He waited for the rest of the names, but they never came. Melchett rolled the scroll back up again and smiled at Blackadder.

"Ah." He did not even ﬂinch, although he wanted to fall on his knees and grab Melchett's feet and beg for mercy.

If a man is scheduled to have his head cut off on Wednesday, does it matter that he has it cut off on Monday? It shouldn't. In the scheme of things, what is two days more or less? That was how Blackadder reasoned. No one was scheduled for the block on Tuesday; if Lord Farrow (for it was he who was scheduled to die Wednesday) were moved to Monday, Blackadder and his crew could have Tuesday and Wednesday off. This would give Blackadder more time at Court to keep an eye on Dudley and play up to the Queen, maybe even get in a few digs at Melchett.

And so it was planned, and so it was done. And then the Queen informed him she'd pardoned the man

"No, no, no, you can't. He's a complete cad of the ﬁrst water."

Melchett leaned over and whispered to the Queen.

She looked stern. "Can't is not a word for princes, Lord Blackadder."

She went on to tell him she wanted to see Farrow within the hour and was going to visit Ponsonby before he was executed.

Things went down hill from there. Every thing he did to cover up his initial goof spiraled out of control and resulted in even bigger cover-ups which spiraled themselves, until his mind was dithering about whether he should continue breathing. Not that it looked like he was going to have much say in the matter before very long. Blackadder's despair began to grow, threatening to take over his mind.

While he and Percy were making fervently anxious plans the back of his mind, the bit not taken over by despair, kept whispering to him.

_What did she say?_

She said "can't" isn't a word for princes.

_Well, what did she mean by that, and why did she say it to you?_

Don't know, I'm not a prince.

_No, but maybe she means you will be._

How could that happen?

_If she married you, you would be the prince consort._

Ah . . .

Later, when he was trying to hide what he thought was Farrow's head from her, she called him Edmund, and said she was keen on him. That was a change, her using his ﬁrst name. But he recalled a failed courtier who'd been beheaded, which took the charm out of it. And then she called him Edmund again, and "sweet Lord Blackadder". He felt strange when she said "Edmund", as if he should cover himself.

At the end, he went to absurd lengths not to lose his head over the job. Lord Ponsonby had one leg, a hunchback, and a speech impediment, and the Queen wanted to see him. There was just one problem—the man had been executed. Quickly he threw off his clothes and had Baldrick tie his left foot up behind him, then pulled on a prisoner's sack. Baldrick folded some rags and stuffed them down the neck of the sack, over his shoulder. Over all that, Ponsonby's short coat. Then, the old disguise: Percy pulled a bag over his head, turning it so Blackadder could see through the holes Percy'd cut for eyes.

He was in the middle of his deception when suddenly the Queen began to scold.

"Oh, Blackadder, stop—I know you're not Ponsonby."

"It looks like you've been found out, my lord," Baldrick said, and reached behind Blackadder to untie his leg. When he was ﬁnished and Blackadder was on both feet again, Percy lifted the bag off his head and removed the "hump" from under Ponsonby's coat.

"Well, we did try," Percy said.

"Yes, shut up, Percy." Blackadder could feel the axe on his neck already. The three of them stood before the Queen with nothing to say.

"Aren't you going to walk me outside? There's a frightful stench in here."

As they emerged into the fresh air, he cleared his throat. "Ah, madam . . . "

"Not another word out of you. Go home and get cleaned up. I expect you back at Court after dinner."

"Yes, madam." Blackadder bowed. Percy bowed. Baldrick bobbed down and up again like an egret.

Lords Blackadder and Percy were announced to the Queen when the sun was already past the zenith. She looked down at them as they came forward and knelt before her.

"Lord Percy, you may stand," she said, then addressed Blackadder, who remained kneeling. "Where is your monkey, Lord Blackadder? He was involved in this little piece of trickery as well."

"He's waiting for me outside, madam. Shall I call him?"

"No, I've had quite enough of that smelly prison."

"Quite, ma'am."

"You may rise, Lord Blackadder, and stand beside Lord Melchett. Percy, go mingle."

"Yes, your Majesty," Percy bowed and backed away, then walked off into the crowd.

As Blackadder stood and moved to Melchett's side, Melchett began to protest. "Surely, your Highness, there are better places for Lord Blackadder to stand."

"No, I want him right there."

"But madam, something of the prison air still hangs about him."

Nursie smiled up at the Queen. "Oh, I'm sure he's had his bath, just like you used to, my downy chick. First we washed your hair, and then your little face, and then your shoulders, and then your two little—"

"Shut it, Nursie, or you shall ﬁnd yourself eating my pomander."

"—arms, and then—"

"Nursie!" There was a mufﬂed grunt. Blackadder didn't dare look.

He wasn't sure but he could have sworn Melchett pulled aside his robes as he approached. He spoke softly to the advisor as he turned to face the room.

"Don't bother, Melchett. After the Queen has me beheaded for my follies, you'll be free to ﬁll her head with whatever tripe you desire."

"I heard that, Blackadder." Elizabeth had spoken through a smile she was conferring on the ambassador from Ireland, who had just entered the room and was approaching the throne. "Why would I want my head full of tripe? That sounds absolutely icky. And Melchett, don't intimidate Blackadder, or I'll have _your_ head lopped off."

"As opposed to mine, of course, your Majesty." Blackadder said, never removing his eyes from the ambassador.

"In _addition_ to yours, of course—Lord Flaherty! On behalf of England and her people, we welcome you."

There began a very serious and convoluted give and take regarding Ireland and the Catholic question. Blackadder's attention soon wandered. He had, as Lord Melchett had phrased it last year, more pressing things on his mind. For one thing, there was the question of whether or not he would be allowed to retain his head. For another, there was Robert Dudley over in the corner chatting with Percy, who was nodding his head and simpering like an idiot. The man really should be at home, Blackadder thought. After all, there was a wife, probably children. But no, he spent as much time as possible here, seeing to her Majesty's horses, or going on the hunt with her, or dancing with her, or any number of things Blackadder was not asked to do. And the way he talked to her was often rude at best. What was worse, she allowed it! If he dared to address the Queen as Dudley did, he was sure he would not survive the night. He did not see Flaherty bow and take his leave.

"Lord Blackadder!" Melchett broke into his thoughts. "If I were the recipient of that look, I believe I would be melted down to my bones."

"Let me know if you take a chill." He spoke without taking his eyes off of Dudley.

"You will not gain favor with her Majesty if she sees you looking death at Lord Dudley."

"The man has a wife, does he not?" Blackadder asked pointedly. "Children?"

"A wife indeed, but no children."

"Apparently he has no time to get children; he is never with his wife."

Melchett ignored Blackadder's rude remarks. "He is often needed at Court; Master of the Queen's Horse, you know. I understand you ride quite well."

"I have a very good horse. I would think a man's wife would be his ﬁrst duty."

"No doubt you could ride even better if you were on one of the Queen's horses. And what would you know about caring for a family, Blackadder? Heard from Lord and Lady Flashheart lately?"

Before Blackadder could answer, Nursie's voice broke in. "It does sound like Lords Melchett and Blackadder are having a spat, my little peach pit."

"Boys," the Queen's voice carried to them and no further. "You are not to bring shame to my court. Now, behave—here come the Lord and Lady Farrow."

Lord Farrow was fully as tall and nearly half again as wide as Lord Melchett at the shoulders, a giant of a man with a pleasant face and his left sleeve pinned up at the elbow. His wife, beautiful when Blackadder had seen her in the prison, was now even lovelier if that were possible. Farrow bowed and his wife curtsied.

"Your Majesty!" Farrow's voice nearly shook the ceiling. "We have come to thank you once again for your great mercy in making it possible for my dear wife and I to be reunited."

"Oh, it was Lord Blackadder's doing," Elizabeth said.

Blackadder ﬂushed and bowed, knowing he did not deserve any credit at all for the man being alive. "Lord Farrow, Lady Farrow."

The wife rushed to Blackadder and took his hand. "Oh, Lord Blackadder, I don't know how I can thank you!"

He cleared his throat. "Well, it's a bit late for that now, unfortunately."

Lord Farrow then walked over and shook his hand. Blackadder was not a small man, but his hand looked like that of a child enveloped in Farrow's. "Lord Blackadder, I'm indebted to you, sir, for my life."

Out of the corner of his eye, Blackadder saw Robert Dudley approach the throne. "Yes, well, go home and enjoy it, Farrow, there's a good man."

The couple left and when he glanced back around for Dudley, he was gone. Blackadder took a deep breath and let it out slowly, massaging the bones of his right hand where Farrow had crushed it.

"Lord Blackadder," the Queen said waving her hand in his direction. "You may step away from Lord Melchett. The reason I asked after your monkey is because he took part in my little plot."

"Madam?"

"Porter, bring in Lord Blackadder's monkey."

"Actually, madam, his name is Baldrick."

"Funny name for a monkey."

Baldrick shufﬂed in and stood before the Queen. He had made an obvious attempt to neaten himself up, but he was still hopeless.

"Baldrick, what's this about a plot?" Blackadder asked.

"Well, my lord, before the Queen made you the Lord High Executioner, she sent Lord Melchett after me, because, you know, I was already working for Mr. Ploppy."

"I brought your servant back to her Highness and she gave him two simple orders," Melchett put in with that smarmy smile.

"Yes . . ."

"Oh, let me tell it, can't you see Blackadder is just dying from curiosity?"

Blackadder thought he might just die from something else, but kept that to himself.

"So I had your man tell me everything you did, and when he told me that you had scheduled Lord Farrow to be executed on Monday instead of Wednesday, I got this absolutely wonderful idea. I had him cut off Lord Ponsonby's head instead, because Ponsonby's been a horrible old goat."

"That isn't what you called him last month, my little bit of ﬂuff."

The Queen blinked. "Pomander, Nursie." Nursie took up her sewing.

"So I pardoned Lord Farrow, which I was going to do anyway before Lady Farrow came whining to me. Then I had your man put cut off Ponsonby's head instead of Farrow's, and we watched you run around like a Mexico with its head cut off!"

Blackadder winced at the reference. It was confusing at best, and he could see no sense in it. But that seemed to be the way of the Court these last few weeks.

"Actually, it was my idea, Blackadder," Melchett said.

"So I have you to thank for my slide into suicidal desperation?"

"Yes, and I must say I'm quite pleased." A smile crossed Melchett's face. "It was a test, Blackadder, to see if you would do what the Queen commanded you to do."

"You were pretty naughty, Edmund."

"Alas, madam, I was only thinking of the people working for me."

"No you weren't, you were thinking of yourself. No man courting me will get anywhere being selﬁsh, you know."

At that moment, Robert Dudley appeared to his right.

"Although he might get somewhere being sexy. Robin! How delightful of you to come!"

"Likewise, Majesty." Dudley bowed, then gave Blackadder a dismissive glance. "Have you ﬁnished with your slave?"

"Yes. Go away, Edmund. Melchy, get me something to eat."

Blackadder was backing toward the door when his arm was ﬁrmly grabbed by Melchett, who steered him toward the banqueting table. Blackadder doubted he could break the man's hold and let himself be steered toward the food.

"You need a meal yourself, Blackadder. A man needs to build up his strength."

"I was going to ride home, not climb the spire of St. Paul's."

"Have you broken fast today? No? You should eat—some mutton, perhaps, and a good slab of cheese, maybe put them together between bread the way her Highness does."

As he piled a selection of meats and some fruit on a platter for the Queen, Melchett kept talking. "You know, some day somebody's going to copy her idea and take all the credit for it. Try some of that yellow cheese, Blackadder. I understand it comes from Somersetshire."

Blackadder obediently took a small plate and began to pick things to eat as Melchett continued.

"You strike me as a man who is a bit beyond himself, Blackadder. Rather like your—was that your uncle in the service of Mary, the Queen's late sister? Rather like your uncle was."

"Quite." Blackadder had a sudden urge to slam his plate sideways into Melchett's face. He had lived twice as long as this man, and he was presuming to tell him what his problems were, his failings?

"I understand your uncle was ruined by Mary. But as you may have noticed, her Majesty Elizabeth is nothing like her sister."

Blackadder forced himself to concentrate on the fruit. Dried apple or dried plum to go with his meat and cheese? Better go with the apple.

"She may be a woman, and a young one at that, but she has the intelligence and heart of a man. I would listen to her if I were you, Blackadder, and not be put off by her temper and her seeming silliness. You stand to learn much."

Melchett left and Blackadder took a place at the table. Now that he had food in front of him, he found he was indeed hungry. As he ate, he mulled over what Melchett had said. What was the man up to? One moment he was telling him how he set him up to see whether he would obey the Queen—here he felt shame for a small moment, then pushed it out of his mind—the next moment, he was almost acting friendly. And the Queen, by rights, should have had him executed after Ponsonby, for not following her commands. Well, sort of. It wasn't as if the Queen had made up the execution schedule—or had she? Blackadder began to experience a very uneasy sensation in the backs of his knees. He realized he was not as sure of the people and events in this Court as he thought he was. With Mary, one knew where one stood every moment. It may have been next to the executioner's block, but at least it was known territory.

Suddenly his musing was interrupted by a loud, shrill voice. "_Oh_, Lord Blackadder, I _heard_ how you saved Lord Farrow from being _executed_!"

He looked up to see Percy, whose eyes were a little too bright. Lord Percy, in celebration, had obviously taken quite a bit of wine.

He leaned back from the man's breath. "Percy, for God's sake, you were with me—"

"That's the most _marvelous_ thing anyone has done here in _ages_! Lady Farrow must have been _so_ thankful to you."

"Shut up and sit down, Percy, you—"

"Oh, Lord Blackadder, you are _too_ humble! If _you_ won't tell everyone about it, I _will_!"

"Percy, please—"

Percy stood and patted his hand. "Don't you worry about a _thing_, I'll make sure the _right_ people know!" And then he giggled. Blackadder leaned an elbow on the table and hid his face with his hand. That idiot obviously thought he was helping, and Blackadder knew it would come back on him. He couldn't shut Percy up; the man had moved into the middle of the room and was talking animatedly with Dudley again. This was only going to get worse.

He looked down at his plate; his appetite had ﬂed and wasn't likely to return any time soon.

The right people, indeed. He was not comforted.

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**My sincere thanks to Guest who gave me the first review. I must say, getting the first review on the first fanfic is quite a high, and you have made my evening! Or maybe even several evenings! I'm glad you're enjoying this, and hope you continue to do so. :-)**


	6. Chapter 6

**In which Blackie witnesses the signing of an important treaty and races Queenie—on horseback. Enjoy! And thanks for reading.**

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**June/July 1560**

Negotiations with the Scots were progressing well. Their objection to the presence of the English army in their country was easily answered: England was there because they objected to the presence of the French in Scotland, from whence, as all sides knew, they would have a base to invade England. And really, the French weren't such a blessing to Scotland. For many, the only beneﬁt in letting the French occupy their country was the added military might. They reasoned that with the combined forces of the Scots and French armies, England could not only be kept at bay, but invaded and conquered. Or at least, beaten so badly they would stay on their side of the border for a very long time.

Unfortunately, that wasn't how it fell out. The presence of the French intimidated the English, who then came into Scotland in huge numbers and not for the scenery, either. The French were behaving no better than the English—worse, in fact—strutting about as if they already owned the place (which they would if Scotland didn't get wise), turning their noses up at what they deemed crude social habits and bad food. The Scots, who had been getting by just ﬁne on their social habits and food, found the French overbearing and condescending. And the way they spoke English (they didn't have the Scots), only half of what they said could be understood. So now the Scots had two occupying armies in their country, and there really wasn't room or patience for the lot of them.

A treaty had been worked out, and the Lords of Scotland had agreed to bring Mary and meet with Elizabeth at Fotheringhay to read and sign it. The terms were that all French and English troops had to leave Scotland, and that Mary would give up her claim to the English throne. This seemed to please almost everyone: The Scots could have their country back, the English wouldn't have to worry about the French invading from the north, and the French could go back home to their sissiﬁed manners and haute cuisine.

The Queen set out for Fotheringhay with only a very small entourage—Nursie, Lord Melchett, her private physician Sir Roger Marbeck, a few maidens of honor, a dozen guards, and since Robert Dudley could not go, Lord Blackadder.

It was a sight to see. Besides the guards there were a dozen outriders who preceded and followed the caravan. Several rode ahead out of sight to make sure the way was cleared for the Queen's carriage and wagons, half a dozen rode around the caravan in a large circle, and the last three followed behind at a distance. The guards rode three abreast before and after the Queen's carriage, and three to each side. After the Queen's carriage, in which rode Elizabeth, Marbeck, and Nursie with the maidens of honor, came the carriage in which rode Lords Melchett and Blackadder, as well as a chamber valet for Melchett and that mysterious bit of humanity known as Baldrick, for Blackadder.

It was expected that wherever the Queen's entourage stopped, all needs would be met. Most of the time they traveled from one royal residence to another, but not all of them were really habitable. Upon her accession Elizabeth had inherited over sixty royal residences, but some were in such disrepair they were allowed to collapse in on themselves, and because she could not afford to maintain the rest she gave away quite a few to courtiers and other ofﬁcials. Robert Dudley had been blessed with some wonderful pieces of property, including Kenilworth Castle in Warwickshire.

They arrived at Fotheringhay Castle the second day, and Blackadder looked on the outlying area with old affection. The land all around had been cleared for farming, much as it had been when Blackadder had visited as a young man, before the Battle of Bosworth ﬁeld, before he killed the man he then knew as his great-uncle, Richard III. Richard had been born at Fotheringhay, and was a visitor to the place when in the area. It was upon one such occasion Edmund had gone to visit. Not much had changed in eighty years.

The treaty was signed on the 6th of July. Edmund stood to one side with Melchett while the Queen put pen to parchment. The treaty, along with removing both French and English troops from Scotland, annulled Mary's claims to the throne of England. Everyone was satisﬁed but Mary, who would not ratify the treaty. It mattered not; on command of her most august majesty Elizabeth, Queen of England and Ireland etc., the English troops would immediately begin returning home. The French troops would also begin to take their upturned noses back across the channel.

Later that evening a courier arrived at Fotheringhay who extended to them on behalf of Lord Mildmay an invitation to Apethorpe House before they returned to London.

The dust settled quickly to the drive in front of Apethorpe House as Blackadder stifﬂy alit from the carriage, massaging his sore back. Off to the east dark clouds hung low over the hills; the air was oppressively close. He followed the Queen and Lord Melchett into the yard, where they were met by Lord Mildmay, a light-haired man in his late thirties with a long face and a ready smile. With him stood his wife Mary. They were so incredibly pleased the Queen and her entourage had accepted his offer that they insisted on giving the Queen and her small court a tour of Apethorpe House that evening after supper.

Mildmay had had a suite of rooms especially built for Elizabeth on the south side of the Great Hall, with mullioned windows looking out over the gardens. When the windows were opened, a breeze scented with lavender and roses wafted through the rooms.

A special room had been set aside as well for the Queen to receive the few visitors who might come to her during her time there. It was small, but there were large windows in the wall opposite the double doors, and there was plenty of light. Elizabeth decided she wanted her "throne" set up right against the wall, in the space between the windows. There was more to this than met the eye; anyone coming in would behold their Sovereign framed in light. More, the light coming in through the windows would keep them from noticing if she were tired or not wearing her makeup, which she tended to avoid when she traveled. That room was referred to simply as the Little Chamber.

The double doors of the Little Chamber opened out onto a wide hallway that stretched ﬁfty feet along the east side of the building. On the south east corner the hall ended in doors that opened to the outside, and from there one could walk into the gardens on the south side of the property or into the lawns on the east side of the property. The end of the hallway on the east side opened into a cloistered walk paved with local grey-green stones.

The Queen's suite of rooms took nearly all the south side of the building; the remaining rooms were for Melchett and Blackadder. On the court side of the south wing, the rooms looking into the yard were taken by other Lords and Ladies and attendants. And finally, to make sure the Queen and her court were safe during her visit to Apethorpe, Lord Mildmay retained what some might have considered a small army of men who made it their business to patrol the property.

After supper the Queen and her servants retired to her rooms, the advisors and courtiers to their lesser rooms next to hers.

That evening a hard rain fell, and lightening lit up Blackadder's room as he got ready to sleep. There was a knock on his door and he opened it to ﬁnd Baldrick with a candlestick.

"I just came to see if you needed anything, my lord," Baldrick said. Then he saw the window above Blackadder's bed was open and went to shut it.

"You'll catch your death with this window open," he scolded.

"I rather doubt it," Blackadder said dryly. "I've always slept with a window open, you know that."

"Yes, my lord, but they do say the night air brings sickness." Baldrick closed the windows tightly and took one last look around the room to make sure everything was right.

Blackadder went to the window and threw it open. "Baldrick, the only way the night air might hurt me is if a thief climbs in through the window and in a moment of carelessness steps on my head." He looked out the window and took a deep breath. "Ah, I like this place! Did you see the gardens as we drove in this evening? I can still smell the roses."

Baldrick had not much appreciation for ﬂowers, but he nodded. "Yeah, it does smell nice."

"And what's more, Baldrick," Blackadder said as he turned back to his servant, "Lord Dudley, with his many colorful suits of clothes, his whispy little mustache and beard and his thinning hair, is not here. That alone is worth a year of weeks like this!"

He didn't like Dudley. Every time he saw the man behaving amorously toward the Queen, he thought of Amy Robsart alone at home. Amy had accompanied Dudley to court once a few months ago. It was the only time Blackadder ever saw her. She was not ravishingly beautiful as Lady Farrow had been; rather, she displayed a ﬁne-boned attractiveness, with a broad forehead, pointed chin and large blue eyes. Not even to himself would he admit she reminded him of Kate.

Blackadder had heard the gossip that Dudley married Amy only for her dowry. True, marriage for love was considered a luxury of the rich. Only nobles could afford to marry for love, although often marriages were contracted to consolidate titles and power. The poor, who had nothing to lose, could also marry for love. But love, they said, had not entered into the equation for Dudley. It wasn't right, he thought, that Dudley's wife should languish at home while her husband wooed the Queen. It was not right that the Queen should be paid court by such a man. He wasn't good enough for her. Even Melchett would be a better man than Dudley—was, in fact.

One day toward the end of breakfast, after Sir Walter and his wife excused themselves, the Queen put down her fork and declared, "Oh, I wish Dudley were here!"

"Miss him, do you, madam?" Melchett kept his eyes on the orange he was peeling.

"I want to go for a ride, Melchy, and my Master of Horse is not here!"

"No, madam, he is not." Melchett could have been talking about the weather. "But Lord Blackadder is here, and I understand he rides quite well."

"Really?"

"Yes. He brought his horse, Black Arrow, along, you know. Tell her Majesty why your horse has that name, Blackadder."

Blackadder hastily swallowed his toast and laid down his knife. "I named him Black Arrow ﬁrstly, madam, because he is black. And secondly, because I fancy he can run as fast as an arrow can ﬂy."

"Really?" Elizabeth got a look in her eye that made Blackadder just a little uneasy. "Wonderful!" She put down her fork and stood up. "Lord Blackadder, we're going riding."

"There is nothing I'd like better than a good ride, Majesty." And he followed her out of the room.

Gossip was the lubricant of Court machinery. Blackadder didn't often pass it on, but he listened to anything he could get his ears around. One of the many things he had heard about the Queen was that when she went out riding with Robert Dudley she wore a riding costume which was split so that she could sit astride a horse like a man. As if that weren't enough, she also rode races with Dudley. It was the opinion of many that the Queen should not carry on in such a manner. The wonder of it was, the tongue-waggers said, that as good a rider as Dudley was, the Queen always won.

A groom stood outside the stables with one of the Queen's favorite horses and Blackadder saddled and bridled Black Arrow.

"Well, boy, you're about to get your ﬁrst run in a while." He ran his hand down the stallion's neck and the horse turned his head and rested it on Blackadder's shoulder brieﬂy. "Yes," he said as he led the horse into the courtyard. "I think it's going to be a good ride."

A few minutes later, Elizabeth came walking across the grass to them. She was in a brown outﬁt quite like a man's with trousers and a long coat, a riding whip under her arm. Her hair, which he was surprised to ﬁnd was quite long, was bound up in cords at her neck. Without a word she took the reins from the groom.

"Now Blackadder," she said, "if the cinch is not tight or if the horse throws a shoe and I fall, you shall bear the blame."

"Madam?" He stood beside Black Arrow, wondering if that wasn't the groom's job.

"Since my Master of Horse isn't here, you must take his place. We'll ride out to the tall oak and back." Then she checked the cinch herself, making sure the girth was tight, and mounted in one smooth move. Without warning, she took the horse into a gallop and called back, "Come on, Blackie, ride!"

He jumped into the saddle and tore out of the yard after her.

She rode north. It was obvious she knew the land here, where the ground was soft and where there was ﬁrm footing for the horses. She was a good horsewoman, he had to give her that. The sun, still low above the trees to their right, lit the land with a warm glow, glinting off the ripening wheat in the ﬁelds to either side of them. The long grasses, the bushes and shrubs still wet with dew and holding leaves and berries from last year, seemed to have been dipped in a vat of gold and then dusted with diamonds. And Elizabeth's hair shone like new copper.

Suddenly he realized he was looking at her from behind, and they were racing, weren't they?

"Now Black Arrow, justify my faith in you." And he reached back and gently slapped the horse on the ﬂank. Black Arrow gathered himself under Edmund and exploded. Steadily they gained on the Queen and the dun she was riding. He could hear her laughing up ahead, shrieking like a banshee, urging her horse on.

They drew even with Elizabeth and she looked over at them, an expression of astonishment on her face. She began to use the riding whip on the dun, determination replacing surprise. The dun pulled ahead, and she smiled, then let out a most unladylike whoop.

Edmund pushed up and settled just behind Black Arrow's shoulders. Then he leaned over and put his head to one side of the horse's neck. "Good job, Black Arrow, good job. Put your heart into it, my pride."

Slowly, Edmund and Black Arrow pulled ahead, and he began to laugh. How long had it been since he had been able to take the horse out and give him his head? And the morning air on his face, the feel of the wind in his hair, was exhilarating.

Ahead of them and up a rise stood a tall lone oak. He hadn't put the spurs to the stallion yet; he doubted he would need to. It seemed Black Arrow's hooves were merely skimming the ground. If there could be nobility for horses, Blackadder thought, this one would be the king. He reined in, slowing as he rounded the oak and passing Elizabeth and the dun as they approached it.

He rode for all he was worth, then. Back down the rise, back over the churned earth, back past the shrubs and the trees. And faintly behind him he heard a cry. Rising up in the stirrups again, he looked quickly behind. Elizabeth had stopped and dismounted and was leading the dun.

Puzzled, he slowed Black Arrow and trotted back to where she stood waiting for him.

"Madam, are you—"

"Yes, I am well."

"Is your horse—"

"My horse is perfectly ﬁne, Lord Blackadder!"

" Is anything amiss?"

"Yes, something is amiss!"

He dismounted and together they began to walk their mounts back to Apethorpe House.

"I don't understand, madam."

"Dudley always lets me win!"

"Ah." He walked on in silence for a minute. "And you think I should have let you win, is that it?"

"Yes, I do."

"But you see, madam, if I beat you fairly, then you lose fairly. Which is better than winning unfairly, I believe."

They were nearly at the courtyard. The groom, not hearing the horses thundering back as expected, was no where to be seen. Elizabeth spoke again, and he noticed a slight change in her voice. They might have been discussing ethics in horse racing, but she was still his Sovereign. "Do you really believe that, Blackadder?"

He thought for a moment. Did he really believe it? For decades he had done whatever was necessary to to get ahead, whatever was necessary to to get money, whatever was necessary to get—anything he wanted. Whatever he had to do to get what he wanted, that had been his rule.

He looked down at his boots, now covered in dust**. **What was his rule with this woman? After a moment he said, "Madam, between you and me there will always be honesty. And if you ever win a race with me, you can be assured you will have won it fairly."

They had reached the yard and she stopped. "You mean that, don't you?" Gone the laughing, shrieking young woman; she was the Queen now.

"Yes, I do."

She held out her hand to him. "Thank you for a good race, then. And remember your words, Lord Blackadder."

"Yes ma'am, I shall." He bent over her hand to kiss it, and as he did so impulse seized him and he lingered. Ever so softly, he ran his lips over the back of her hand, and then bit one of her knuckles.

The Queen's groom appeared and Blackadder straightened and walked away leading his horse. Behind him the Queen of England and Ireland, etc. wore a most thoughtful look.

Back in the Little Chamber, Nursie was sitting with her everlasting sewing when Elizabeth, now washed and in a proper gown, came in.

"How was your ride, my pet?"

The Queen sat down on the big chair that served as a throne and rested her chin on her ﬁst. "I lost."

"Lord Blackadder won the race?"

"Yes, he did."

"Oh, then you'll have to have his head cut off, won't you?"

"No, I won't. Not yet."

"But why ever not?" Nursie, whom Elizabeth suspected really was getting daft, leaned close and took a conspiratorial tone. "You won't let Robert Dudley win."

"Dudley never lets me lose. There's a difference."

"Well, then, you'll just have to cut off Lord Blackadder's head until he learns to let you win."

"He only has one head, Nursie."

"That's not what I heard, my pet."

Nursie was saved from her own silliness by the appearance of Melchett, who informed the Queen that Lady Mildmay would be honored by a walk in the gardens. Lord Mildmay was absent, having business in London as his duties to the Queen required, but every comfort of her court had been provided for.

The visit completed the next day, everyone climbed back into their carriages and the caravan made its way back to London without incident. Nobody noticed if the Queen in her carriage, and the Lord Blackadder in his, were uncharacteristically quiet.

Court settled in at Windsor and business continued with an vigor that surprised the Court itself. There were no great emergencies, no great occurrences. Lords and ladies and other courtiers were able to put all their energy into their pursuits. Which, depending on who they were, was not necessarily a good thing.

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Thanks to** jnooteb **for reviewing. Hope you enjoyed this chapter! If others of you would care to review, I would appreciate it—feedback lets me know how I'm doing here. :-)


	7. Chapter 7

**Here's the seventh chapter, up just in time for Thanksgiving. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! In case any of you were wondering, Blackadder is still the conniving, acid-witted fellow we know and love. **

**In which Lord Dudley sets himself against Lord Blackadder, Black Arrow aquits himself, and Dudley's opportunities open up.**

**The usual disclaimer: I do not own Blackadder or any of the characters invented by Richard Curtis et. al., nor do I own the people who so richly made history. But I can play with them, and have a grand time doing so!**

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**Thursday, 5th September, 1560**

Dudley stewed as he rode from his house in Oxfordshire to London, where Court was presently at Windsor Castle. His wife was very ill. It was a problem with one of her breasts; he had seen the oozing, open sore that grew larger each day, and the smell that accompanied it repulsed him. He could no longer bear to be in the same room with her for any length of time. His wife was not long for this world, he knew.

With Amy dead, he would be free to intensify his pursuit of Elizabeth, and then to marry her. They were all but married now; there was only one small obstacle—Edmund Blackadder.

Dudley wasn't sure what he was going to do about Blackadder, who seemed to be growing in esteem with the Queen by leaps and bounds, especially since the new year when he had so absurdly given his life to her.

He grew angry every time he thought about it. To make oneself the gift was the height of foolishness or desperation, and in Blackadder's case it was probably both. But Elizabeth had accepted his offer, and then—the injustice of it!—even when Blackadder had failed so miserably in his duty, she had forgiven rather than punish him.

Furthermore, many of Dudley's supporters were bringing word to him that the Queen's advisors were beginning to favor Blackadder if it came to marriage and producing an heir. This view was also new, but had been gaining strength since January. Even Melchett, an old ally, seemed to be leaning in Blackadder's favor.

He had loved Amy, he had. But now she was sick and obviously dying, and he felt as if his love for her—his affection, all of his emotion—was dying down like a bed of embers, and soon the last coals would fade out entirely.

Ahead of him was Elizabeth. Elizabeth, who had been his friend since they were in the same royal school together, Elizabeth who had been his comfort while they were conﬁned in the Tower, Elizabeth who sat on the throne and who loved him and who had told him years ago that if she married anyone, it would be him. He had never stopped loving her. Not during the ten years married to Amy (although he had to admit he was away tending the Queen's horses—and the Queen—far more often than he was home), not during the two years he spent ﬁghting in France, not when Elizabeth became Queen, not when Lord Edmund Blackadder was admitted to Court, and not now. Especially not now. He spurred his horse on and galloped down the road to London.

The Presence Chamber was full. It was, after all, the evening meal, and tables were crowded with gossiping gluttony. Dudley noticed that the high table, where Elizabeth usually sat with Lord Melchett, Nursie and a few of her favorite courtiers, was empty. Spying the Gentleman Usher at the door, he asked and was escorted to the Privy Chamber, where she was having her supper.

Before he got to the door, he heard loud laughter. Melchett—Melchett, whose seriousness knew no bounds, was laughing out loud! He entered the room and there she was, with all six maids of honor, the Ladies and Grooms of the Privy Chamber, Melchett—and that damn Lord Edmund Blackadder, who seemed to be in ﬁne form. He had the Queen and the Grooms of the chamber laughing uproariously, and the maids of honor and the Ladies were giggling. Dudley saw the danger to himself immediately and walked to the table.

Elizabeth looked from Blackadder to him and he bowed deeply. "Your Majesty," he said quietly. When he spoke quietly people hushed to listen, and all eyes turned toward him exactly as he planned.

"Robin, you should have been here," Elizabeth said. "Edmund and Melchy have been very funny, and you've missed it all!"

"I am here now, madam," Dudley said. "May I join you?"

She waved him to a chair. His eyes were already beginning to sting from the candle smoke. The air was stuffy and close even though the windows were open; there was no breeze outside, and the air did not move.

Dudley looked over to where Blackadder was still talking to Melchett, his head bent to the candle light. As he watched, Blackadder threw his head back and laughed—the man had perfect teeth; not a one was missing. Dudley ran his tongue over the gap where he'd lost a tooth last year and hated Blackadder even more. He smiled to himself and began to plan his attack**.** While he spoke of small matters to Elizabeth he kept one eye on Blackadder, who seemed to be enjoying his ale a great deal. He grabbed the pitcher of ale and ﬁlled Nursie's cup and Melchett's, then ﬁlled Blackadder's nearly to the rim.

"Thank you, Dudley," Blackadder said. "I was just going to ask after your wife. She is ill, is she not?"

"Worsening daily, I fear."

"I wonder you aren't with your wife, sick as she is."

Dudley stared back at his rival, who was calmly cutting a slice of pork off the roast haunch on a gold platter. Blackadder carefully lifted the meat with a fork and his dagger, and transferred it to Elizabeth's plate without dropping any juice on the damask cloth.

It was bad enough the people hated him for his favored position with the Queen and accused him of having done what he only dreamed of. It was bad enough that his long-standing ﬂirtation with her, his close association, his special attentions, were in danger of being lost. But it was unthinkable that he should lose it all to this man, who always wore the same black doublet and hose with crimson slashing, who affected the ruby-eyed snakes coiled around daggers on each sleeve, who was a virtual unknown to him and therefore, he assumed, not worth knowing.

"I wonder you think to know my business better than I myself." He kept his voice even, though Blackadder's remark had stung. "What of your family, Lord Blackadder—all thriving and happy?"

"No, they are all killed and dead." Blackadder's tone was acerbic. "I bear the sorrow of knowing they died while I was helpless to comfort them. I never had the joy of a wife, Dudley, but you can be sure if I did I would be with her in her time of trial."

Dudley noticed a slight thickening of Blackadder's vowels; the man had taken too much ale. He decided he was tired of addressing the top of Blackadder's head. "Look me in the eye when you insult me, Blackadder."

Blackadder lifted his head slowly and looked directly at him. With a shock Dudley saw that Blackadder's eyes were two different colors. In some places, that would have you burned as a witch. Now, there was an idea . . . but that piercing green and brown gaze seemed to go right through him and he almost felt Blackadder knew what he thought, and held it in disdain. Then Blackadder lowered his eyes again and Dudley decided he was going to have to deal with this threat to his future prosperity once and for all.

"S'truth, you insult not only me but my honor."

"I was unaware a man could be separated from his honor," Blackadder replied.

The rest of the table were quiet now, watching the scene unfold. Even the Queen refrained from comment. Dudley took her silence as approval of his actions and continued, not bothering to respond to Blackadder's last statement.

"I demand satisfaction."

Again the insolent head came up. "What, d'you mean with swords?"

"That would hardly be fair, my lord." Percy—was that his name?—put his hand on Blackadder's arm. "You've been studying with Lovino, remember."

Dudley's spine straightened. "Lovino? The Italian?"

"No," Blackadder said, and drained his cup. "Lovino the Japanese."

"Edmund," Elizabeth warned.

Lovino, Italian genius in the art of sword play, had been with the London Company of Masters of Defense as a visiting instructor for several years, and only took the most advanced swordsmen as his pupils. Dudley had not been one of them.

Immediately he sensed the balance of inﬂuence had changed, that he was dangerously close to being toppled from his position of favor with the Queen. Blackadder was quite clearly drunk—if he challenged the man to a duel now, would he accept the challenge? And if he did, how well could he ﬁght? Dudley might stand a chance of killing Blackadder while he was drunk, but if Blackadder and others at table insisted the duel take place tomorrow or the next day, after he'd had time to sober up, Blackadder would run him through before he could draw his sword. And Dudley was a swordsman of some repute himself.

No, there had to be some other challenge he could put to the man that he would be able to win and thereby discredit Blackadder in the Queen's eyes, even if just long enough for him to reinstate himself as her favorite

"Oh, I know!" Percy wiggled in his seat like an overeager school boy. "They could take turns dancing the Volta with her Majesty, and the best man would win!"

"No, Robin's been dancing with me for ages," Elizabeth said. "It has to be something fair."

"Well, madam, they could lead the singing for a madrigal, and may the best man win," Melchett said.

"No, Robin can't sing," Elizabeth said.

"Sounds fair to me." Blackadder smiled, for he could sing.

Then the Queen got a naughty glint in her eye. "No, I know. They can have a race. Each man may have the horse of his choice from my stables, and they must run together the course I choose, and the best man will win."

"That sounds like a good idea, my pet. And whoever loses can have his head cut off!" Nursie said.

The Queen playfully slapped her old governess on the back of the head. "Nursie, we can't be beheading people all the time; what would my subjects think?"

"Well, you could have the loser burned at the stake, the way your sister Mary did all her enemies when she was on the throne."

"No, I'm not doing that, either. The loser . . ." she glanced from Dudley to Blackadder, "will have to leave Court, and never see me and my cute little nose again!"

Elizabeth straightened in her chair. "The race will be day after tomorrow, on September seventh. Melchett, you pick out the course. They can start west of the bull-baiting pit and ride south for a mile. At the one-mile point, you can be standing with two tokens I shall give you that morning: one for the first man to reach the one-mile point, the other for the second man to reach it. And then they must race back."

Melchett nodded. "Indeed, madam, just as you wish."

Dudley looked at the large man again. Did he just miss something in Melchett's face, or was he imagining things? He glanced uneasily at Blackadder, who certainly had seen nothing; he was leaning toward Percy, listening to the fellow's persistent inanities.

"That," said Elizabeth, "will give each man time to walk the course beforehand, accompanied by one of my grooms so there'll be no room for mischief. And I'll have watchers scattered along the road during the race, to make sure neither of you take any shortcuts." She put down her fork and looked at them both sternly. "Well, boys, don't you think you'd better go home and get some rest? Big day on the seventh!"

**Saturday, 7th September, 1560**

The day dawned clear and cool, with a slight breeze from the south. A pavilion had been set up on the road, all of silk with the Queen's standards waving lazily from atop the tent peaks. Inside the pavilion sat the Queen, her physician Marbeck, Nursie, and Lord Percy on chairs, and various others from court on benches behind them.

Dudley appeared ﬁrst, leading one of her horses he'd had brought over from Ireland. It was a ﬁne roan stallion, all of 16 hands, spirited and sleekly muscled. Dudley himself was wearing dark blue with a white silk shirt pulled through his slashing. Elizabeth thought he looked quite dashing as he bowed to her and joked about the race, which had her laughing and looking at him from under her eyelashes. Then Blackadder came round the pavilion wall soon afterward on a nondescript swayback sorrel, which brought gentle laughter from the courtiers. He dismounted and bowed to the Queen, while the horse, standing with its head down, continued to draw derisive comments.

"Surely you can't mean to run the race on that," Dudley's voice was thick with scorn.

Blackadder ignored him and bowed to Elizabeth again.

"Lord Blackadder, you could have had any one of my horses," she said. "And you haven't answered Lord Dudley."

"No ma'am, I have not. I mean to ask you for a favor."

"Whatever I can do."

"I mean, ma'am, I desire to pin one of your gloves to my sleeve as a token of your favor."

"That would hardly be fair, would it? I mean, Robert hasn't asked for one."

"Why should he ask for what he thinks he already has?" Blackadder answered.

She removed her gloves and handed one to him and the other to Dudley.

"You may each have a glove; you will both ride with my favor. Lord Percy?"

Percy jumped up and ran out to the road, where a small trench had been dug into the dirt and ﬁlled with water. He stood to the side and held aloft his handkerchief.

"If you will ride up to the mark, gentlemen."

Dudley mounted his horse without touching the stirrup and was at the water before Blackadder had ﬁnished pinning the glove on his sleeve. He walked to the swayback and led her away behind the pavilion. When he reappeared, he was astride his own Black Arrow, fresh for not having been ridden from Whitehall. He walked the horse up to the water-ﬁlled trench and stopped beside Dudley. Elizabeth allowed herself a small smile as she compared the two horses, which were were different as . . . two totally different horses. Blackadder's horse was a hand shorter than the roan, compact of body, with legs that were nearly as long as those of Dudley's horse, which was large and muscular, with a thick neck and shoulder and hip to match, and legs like pillars. She had seen Black Arrow in action and wondered how Robert's horse would do against him.

Percy dropped the handkerchief.

It was an interesting race, until the horses disappeared from view. Dust rose up and obscured them, and there was nothing for Elizabeth to do but wait until ﬁrst one and then the other appeared over the rise in the road, and with all the dust they kicked up it was impossible to tell which was which. All around her bets were being doubled and tripled, and doubled again. She looked around and saw Percy nearly in a faint thinking how rich he might be.

As the horses drew nearer she was able to distinguish the riders, and soon it became obvious the black horse with the black-clad rider was far ahead. Blackadder crossed the water-ﬁlled trench four lengths ahead of Dudley, to the cheers of all who had backed him and won their bets, and the groans of those who were even now handing over money in disgust. He dismounted and led Black Arrow to the pavilion, stopping before her. As she stood, Baldrick appeared at his elbow and took the reins to walk the horse.

Blackadder held his head high and waited until his breathing was even before he spoke.

"Madam," he said after he had got his breath, "I thank you for your good faith in me. And in my horse." He presented her with the silver comb she had given Melchett to hold for the ﬁrst rider to reach him, then unpinned the glove he had fastened to his left sleeve before the race. At the time he hadn't noticed it was the glove from her right hand.

"Your glove, Madam."

She held up her hands. "It seems Lord Dudley has gone off with its mate." She smiled. "You may keep that one if you like, Blackadder, to remind you where you stand with me." Then she held out her hand to him.

He closed his left hand around the soft leather of her glove and took her hand with his right, bowing over it to kiss it. How many times had she given him her hand so that he could bow and kiss it in just this manner? And how many times had he kissed her hand, the merest touch of his lips on her skin, then straightened and backed from her presence? Aside from that one event by the stables at Apethorpe House, the times had been too numerous to count.

Blackadder's blood was high from the race, and at that moment he felt he could dare to do as he wished. He pressed his lips to her hand and kissed it ﬁrmly, and on impulse he gave the knuckle of her hand a little bite, then licked it. He heard her gasp, a quick inhalation of breath; he wanted to do more than nibble her ﬁnger, but he released her hand and straightened.

"Do I have your permission to see to my horse, Madam?"

"Yes, Lord Blackadder, go care for your sweaty, smelly horse."

"The horse which carried me to victory, Ma'am."

"That horse was ridden to victory, Blackadder." The Queen handed her comb to Nursie, who tucked it away in a pocket. "Go take care of your horse and your monkey, and return to me at Court in a week."

The house in Drury Lane looked no different that evening than any other evening; the windows were dark save two on the ﬁrst ﬂoor. Inside, Edmund Blackadder and Percy Percy sat at table with the remains of a ﬁne meal in front of them. Blackadder, in white shirt and black hose, leaned back in his chair and sighed. Baldrick began to clear off the table.

"Ah, Baldrick, a ﬁne meal, even with Percy here."

Percy smiled, pleased at what he perceived as a compliment. "I thank you, Edmund."

"Yes, you would." Rare were the moments Blackadder considered whether Percy knew he was making fun of him. This was not one of them.

"Ah, it's a good feeling, Percy," Blackadder said. "I have done what I set out to do. I bested Robert Dudley at New Year's—"

"With our help, remember, my lord," Baldrick said as Blackadder and Percy moved to the chairs.

"Yes . . . truly a moment of desperation, I can tell you."

"And you won the race, don't forget!" Percy sat down and crossed his legs.

"A moment of planned triumph."

"My lord?"

"Very well, plotted triumph."

"You plotted, Edmund? At supper with the Queen? How could you, you were drunk."

"While it is true I can't hold my ale, Percy, it is not true I got drunk by quafﬁng two tankards of ale in one swallow each."

"How did you get drunk?"

"I quaffed an entire tankard of water in one long swallow. I did not get drunk; the ﬁrst rule of any transaction is not to go into it drunk. Lord Melchett and I switched cups when Dudley was eyeing the Queen, and I waited until Dudley was watching me to drink the whole thing down. After that, _acting_ drunk was easy enough. I had only to let Dudley think I was off guard to entice him, and it worked. I wasn't sure Melchett would help me. But he did, all the way to choosing the course of the race, and Dudley has truly had his beard pulled."

"How so?" Baldrick, having cleared the table, seated himself on the ﬂoor beside the ﬁreplace.

"Lord Melchett chose the road that suddenly curves west about three-quarters of a mile out. He hung the ﬁrst favor on a bush by the side of the road a few yards past the curve in the road, and stood at the one mile mark himself with the second favor. I had only to beat Dudley to the three-quarter mark, grab the Queen's favor, turn around and begin my way back before Dudley came round the curve. Dudley had to ride the entire way to the one mile mark to get his favor. In short, I cheated."

"Oh, clever indeed, Edmund!"

"Thank you, Percy."

"Does the Queen know, my lord?"

"I don't know, Baldrick. But if she does ﬁnd out it will be because one of you or Lord Melchett told her. And I can count on your silence, can't I, gentlemen?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Of course, Edmund. But tell me, what came of Lord Dudley? We have not seen him since the race."

**Tuesday, 10th September—end of October, 1560 (Blackadder's POV)**

I never think about the circumstances of the next few days without a great deal of conflicting emotion. The incident and following events caused a mighty uproar then which still is argued to this very day.

Dudley returned to Court on the tenth and requested an audience with the Queen. Of course these things got around, and of course there was a great deal of gossip. That's how I learned most of what happened—I had friends on the inside who filled me in.

Dudley was granted an audience with the Queen while she took breakfast in her Privy Chamber. Only a few others were present and no official record of the conversation was made, but it was whispered about that most of it was Dudley pleading with her to reconsider her decision and return him to favor, mostly on the basis of their friendship of twenty-three years. The Queen was cordial, friendly, but not flirty as she had been. Rather, she told Dudley quite seriously he must go home and be a husband to his wife. Then Dudley resorted to his old behavior and raised his voice to the Queen, accusing her of swallowing "Blackadder's poison." At which, I was told, she put down her fork, tilted her head and fixed him with that deadly stare.

"You seem to think that I, being a mere woman, do not think my own thoughts but am wholly dependent upon the counsel of my advisors, and influenced by any courtier who whispers into my ear. Little man, little man, you may trust that I have a mind of my own and that even you, as good a friend as you have been, never held such power with me."

It was at that point news came that his wife had been found dead at the foot of a shallow flight of stairs at Cumnor Place, their home in Oxfordshire. A witness to the event said that Dudley's blood dropped so that he rivaled even the pallor I was wont to exhibit when threatened with beheading.

Of course the entire world knows how Dudley immediately set up an independent investigation, how he was found innocent and Amy was found dead by accident, and how rumor was frothing with the belief that Dudley had either killed Amy himself or had it done. If that were so, it certainly backfired on him. It is true the Queen considered marrying him for a few months after Amy's death, but the rumors were so insistent and vicious that to do so would have ruined any credibility she had with the people. Their worst suspicions would have been confirmed—namely, that she and Dudley had conspired together to have Amy killed so that they would be free to marry. She then would have been a party to murder, and God knows what might have followed.

I myself didn't believe Dudley had done it, although there remains to this day a bit of doubt in my mind as to whether he might have had it done. One small example will suffice. I noticed early on that he never wore rings of any kind. Not even a family signet graced the small finger of his left hand. He was a serious swordsman, and he wanted no distractions if ever he was called to the fence for his honor. Lord Robert Dudley was a serious man. He was serious about his goals and he was serious in his pursuance of those goals. He was, let me be honest here, quite as serious as I myself had been in the past—and might be again.

At the time I considered the possibility that Dudley might have hinted heavily to his friend and servant, Anthony Forster, that if Amy were somehow gotten out of the way it would go far to make things much simpler for him. Forster, wanting to curry favor, could have taken it upon himself to fulfill his master's wishes in a literal way and shoved the weakened Amy down the stairs, where she would have died of a broken neck.

But I never believed Dudley himself killed his wife. To be honest, I don't think the man had it in him. As much as I disliked him for being overly ambitious, scheming, conniving, fickle in love, and later a bigamist, I never thought he was a murderer of women. I thought and do still think it much more likely that Amy's death was either suicide or an accident.

Her sickness according to Marbeck, who had done Dudley the kindness of seeing her, was incurable barring a miracle of the Lord God, and she was taking opium for the pain. It could be that she took too much opium and fell down the stairs. Or she may have simply succumbed to the sickness and died on the stair, falling and breaking her neck. Then again . . . Surely she would have heard, all these years, the rumors about her husband's relations with Elizabeth. The weight of such sorrow on top of the pain of her sickness might have driven her to take her own life by throwing herself down the stairs. At any rate, Lord Robert Dudley was cleared of the murder of his wife Amy Robsart and her death was ruled an accident.

During this time I thought it wise to remain absent from Court, and went to stay at the family castle. The last week in October brought a courier with a message demanding my presence before the Queen at Windsor. I arrived to find she had informed Dudley she had decided to put the kingdom before her personal wishes and would not marry him. I did not see him for a very long time thereafter, but was told by Melchett that he seemed considerably subdued after his wife's death.

Baldrick and I set up house in Drury Lane once again and I returned to Court, though not as before. Upon Lord Dudley's disfavor and banishment from her presence, twenty new courtiers presented themselves to her as if I were not in the room, and she received them as if I were not in the room. She received their gifts, listened to their love sonnets, danced with them, and laughed at their jokes. I admit I considered chasing down every one of them and thrashing them in the streets. I believed I should be her favorite, but if the Queen felt likewise she did not inform me.

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**I will try to update again before I leave on vacation for Christmas, I promise! Till then, please leave a review and let me know what you think. All constructive criticism is welcome. Thanks again to _jnooteb_ for reviewing.**

**It is quite possible Amy Robsart died of breast cancer, but historians are not certain. The history given here is pretty accurate. The Queen's upbraiding of Dudley is reminiscent of some of her letters, but is mine. Dudley really was that much of an opportunist; we probably would not have liked him at all.**

****Thanks again for reading. :-)****


	8. Chapter 8

**It looks as if I'll be updating roughly once a week. As usual, the disclaimer: I do not own Blackadder or any accompanying characters—if I did, more than four series would have been made, and all very cunningly!**

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**Saturday, 18th January, 1561**

1561 began cold, and a great deal of wood was burned to keep us warm while we were home in Drury Lane. The air was thick with smoke, and walking from one chamber to the next brought little relief from the chill. My outlook was as leaden as the winter sky. I had been out to the stable behind the house seeing to Black Arrow, and when I came back inside Baldrick was ready with a hot cup of tea.

"Message came while you were out," he said in his minimal fashion, standing on the other side of the table with my tea.

I unwound the length of wool from around my head and neck. "Yes, Baldrick, and who was it from?"

"A messenger, my lord."

"Baldrick, if I had the throat of a corn crake I might be happy to spend all day questioning you." I stepped around the table and took my tea from his hands. "As it happens, I do not."

Settling into my chair before the fireplace, I put my tea down hastily and sneezed. "Build up the fire." I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. "Then sit in front of it and stay warm."

Baldrick shuffled a few armloads of wood in and stacked them carefully against the brick wall on either side of the fireplace, then with a small grunt settled to the floor at my feet.

"Don't forget your tea."

I opened my eyes to see him holding it up to me and took it gratefully.

"Don't you want to hear the message, my lord?"

"Oh, by all means." Though I could not have cared less.

"The Queen wants you to go to Whitehall and grab a duck."

I was very tired. "Baldrick, either you have gone deaf, or your brain has turned to even thinner gravy than usual and is running out of your ears. Now tell me the message, and this time get it right."

"But that was the message: 'The Queen requires your presence at Whitehall to watch her grab a duck."

"I'm telling you, Baldrick—" Then I sat bolt upright. "Oh, no, the play!"

"What?"

"The two Toms are putting on their play, Gorboduc, tonight." I jumped up and went into my bedroom, followed by Baldrick. Quickly I removed my old woolen shirt and pulled on a new one, followed by a new linen shirt and over that, my black doublet lined in red silk. "If I hurry, I can just make it before supper. Play's in the Presence Chamber after supper, I'll be there in time."

"Why would anybody want to see a play about a duck, anyway?"

"It's not about a duck, Baldrick, it's about Gorboduc, a legendary king of the Britons." I fumbled with the buttons of my doublet. "Help me, will you? The last thing I need is to go into the Queen's presence half-buttoned."

I have never minded going to plays if they are well-written and performed by actors who at least have some idea of their craft. Gorboduc was both. The amazing thing about it was that it was in unrhymed verse, so the authors had no need of twisting words around to make them rhyme. They simply wrote out the story the way they wanted it performed, and the players of the Inner Temple acted it out. They out-Shakespeared Shakespeare three years before he was born!

During a terrific storm in May, St. Paul's was struck by lightening which destroyed the spire Melchett had kept me from climbing, and severely damaged the Cathedral.

I gradually came to be acknowledged as the Queen's new favorite, and attained a measure of notoriety. I bought a second set of clothes identical to the first and continued to bask in my newfound popularity. It was the first time since I had been Edmund Plantagenet, Prince of the Realm, that I had been publicly recognized and greeted by people who didn't want to chop off my head, and I found I rather liked it.

All in all, it was a satisfyingly quiet year.

**Monday, 2nd March, 1562 to Saturday, 8th August, 1564**

I was not happy. Being firstly the Queen's owned man and secondly the Queen's favorite kept me busy. Any task she believed I should do for whatever reason, she gave to me and I had to do it. This was the second week I had been asked to look over ledgers dealing with her privy purse expenses, and I was not enjoying myself. Perhaps the fact that the first three books had to do with spending a great deal of money on Lord Dudley had something to do with it, along with the tight time restriction I was working under, going without sleep several days at a time. Whatever the reason, I was not happy. To add to my frustration, the crowds of people pouring into London to see a returned sea explorer seemed to have all decided Drury Lane was the best way to get there, and found it necessary to spend a great deal of time in front of my house yelling. The tumult was affecting my ability to concentrate.

Percy dropped by wearing a silly-looking horned hat to ask if I was going. I was not, and I did not care to. I didn't care who it was come home from a great sail halfway around the world; my work needed to be finished. I sent Percy off with a threat and refused to give Baldrick a half-day off—which he ended up taking anyway, wearing his own version of celebratory hat.

"Some damned explorer's coming home and everyone's dressed up like applicants for game at the Queen's hunt!" I groused. A child's singsong taunt pushed me over the edge. She'd probably been put up to it by Percy. If he'd been available I'd have shot him but as he wasn't, I shot at her with my crossbow. Melchett looked in as I sent the bolt her way. I didn't even look to see if I hit her, but she screamed pretty loudly.

"And another thing," I yelled out the window at the devastated little girl, "why aren't you at school?"

"Ah, Blackadder: started talking to yourself, I see?" Melchett's dulcet tones only aggravated me more.

"Yes, it's the only way I can be assured of intelligent conversation. What do you want?"

It turned out Melchett was going into town as well to celebrate the return of the damned explorer, and wanted to know if I'd care to accompany him. I wouldn't, and I told him so. Of course the reason I gave was that I was completely indifferent to such goings on, not because I was hard pressed to finish my examination of the Queen's books for Monday of the following week.

"It's probably just as well you're not coming, Blackadder," Melchett said as he took an even stranger looking hat from Baldrick. "You're not very popular at Court at the moment, and the Queen and I have much to talk about."

Instantly my attention shifted. Not popular? I was the Queen's favorite; at least, that was what I had been led to believe. What could I possibly have done to displease her?

I gave a dismissive glance at the books on my desk. "Yes, well," I said with a small twist of my gut, "I can probably leave all this until tomorrow."

Melchett headed out the door. "No, I shouldn't bother . . ."

I grabbed my hat and cloak and followed after him. "No, no, no; no problem. I'll be coming with you. Obviously the Queen and I are going to be the only ones even vaguely sensibly dressed . . ."

As it turned out, the Queen was wearing the silliest get-up of them all, with a jeweled eye-patch and a hat I could not begin to describe. And to my disgust, Melchett played along with her strange charade of being some sort of pirate-cum-sailor. They then both turned on me and gave me insult after insult until the damned explorer was piped into the corridor.

The Queen then astounded me even further by saying, "If he's really gorgeous, I'm thinking of marrying him."

"My lady, is that not a little rash?" I was dismayed beyond belief. What had I been working toward these four years, if not what for she was now saying she might give him on impulse?

And then the fellow entered the Privy Chamber.

If his head were any larger, he would have had to name his nose the capital and declare it a nation. What was worse, he was around my apparent age, decidedly good-looking, and full of himself as if he'd begun at his toes and swallowed himself like the fabled ouroboros.

The Queen, Melchett, and Nursie proceeded to fawn all over him, and he lapped it up as a cat laps milk, and began to regale them with the most outrageous tales. There was no way to stop him without attracting attention to myself, so I figured I might as well be as obnoxious as I dared under the circumstances: I gave a great, gaping yawn.

"You remember Lord Blackadder," the Queen said.

He turned around and eyed me the way I might eye one of Baldrick's breakfasts. "No, but I can see he is the sort of pasty landlubber I've always despised." Which comment brought laughter all around, and as the talk progressed I was edged out and insulted even more.

Then the most shocking thing happened. The Queen informed him of the location of her bed chamber. Thank God Melchett was on his toes, because I was at a loss for words, which doesn't happen often.

"I apprehended that there were only seven seas," Melchett said. He changed the direction of the conversation smoothly and the damned explorer followed docilely along.

"Only numerically speaking," he said airily. "We sailors do not count the sea around the Cape of Good Hope. It is called the Sea of Certain Death, and no sailor has crossed it alive."

That was all it took to challenge me.

"Well, well, well," I purred. "What an Extraordinary Coincidence." I then regressed about seven decades and told a complete and utter whopper. "It's just that I was planning a jaunt around the Cape of Good Hope myself, leaving a week on Thursday, I think."

"Really?" the Queen asked.

"Yes," I lied again, my heart not faltering.

The explorer unsuccessfully tried to scare me out of going, as he saw his advantage over me melting. What this young pup thought he had over me was a mystery. He was brave; I could be braver. He was daring; I could be more so. And what's more, I had an advantage—I could be as dishonest as the day is long, and longer if need be.

"If you attempt that journey, you've no mind at all," he said.

"Or perhaps a mind that knows no fear?" I answered.

The Queen fixed her gaze on me. "Is that true, Edmund? Do you know no fear?"

"Well, yes, I do rather laugh in the face of fear and tweak the nose of terror."

"Gosh, Edmund, I'd forgotten how dishy you are."

"You'd never dare," the explorer said. "why, round the Cape, the rain beats down so hard, it makes your head bleed."

"So some sort of hat is probably in order."

"And great dragons leap from the water and swallow ships whole." That was a bit much, but the sort of thing that was putting the court on its toes at the time.

"I must remember to pack the larger of my two shrimping nets." If he could be absurd, so could I. And then the Queen said something that made it all worth while.

"Oh, Edmund, you're completely wonderful. If you do this, I'll probably marry you."

I went off with a plot in my brain and a song in my heart.

Never make travel plans when you are suffering from a dire lack of sleep. In fact, do nothing when you are suffering from a dire lack of sleep, except sleep. The damned explorer gave me the name, so he said, of the only ship's captain crazy enough to take me around the Cape of Good Hope. In fact, he was the only ship's captain so crazy he didn't believe in crewing his ship, but I found that out too late. So I spent pretty much my last pennies—and those of Percy and Baldrick as well—to hire an absolutely questionable, legless fellow and his equally questionable, crewless ship. I got Percy and Baldrick aboard, and stopped by to say my farewells to the Queen and Melchett. The damned explorer was there, no doubt hoping to take my place the minute I left.

"Oh, Edmund, I'm so proud, you're just my complete hero . . . oh dear, I'm going all gooey now."

Nonetheless, I maintain my composure. "Madam, I am moved, and if during my journey, I could believe that occasionally you did spare me a thought and perhaps . . . go gooey again, I would deem my certain death a minor inconvenience."

"Oh Ned, I've written a poem." She'd never called me Ned before.

"When the night goes dark,

And the dogs go 'bark',

When the clouds are black,

And the ducks go 'quack',

When the sky is blue

And the cows go 'moo',

Think of lovely Queenie:

She'll be thinking of you."

It wasn't Gorboduc, but it was the thought that counted. The explorer and Melchett were far less helpful.

"Goodbye, Blackadder: I'd say 'Bon Voyage', but there's no point: you'll be dead in three months."

"I love you, Walter," I said insincerely, "I hope you know that."

Then Melchett handed me a map.

"Farewell, Blackadder. The foremost cartographers of the land have prepared this for you. It's a map of the area that you will be traversing."

I turned it over. Both sides of the paper were blank.

"They'd be very grateful if you could just fill it in as you go along. Goodbye."

Then the captain I'd hired came in, accompanied by Percy and pushed by Baldrick in a wheeled chair. After I introduced him to the Queen and he insulted her, he met Nursie. It was loved at first sight for the two of them.

"I'll be back," he promised. "We'll all be back."

We set sail as the tide turned on 2 March, 1562. When I told the Queen I was fearless, I was being honest: not intending to go anywhere near the Cape of Good Hope, I had nothing to fear. My intention was to sail to France, camp down in the Dordogne for six months, get a good suntan, come home, and pretend we'd been around the Cape and get all the glory. Alas, that is not how things worked themselves out.

Three days out we discovered Captain Rum (for that was his name) had not crewed his ship. We were hopelessly adrift and subject to every whim of the sea. In six months we did not see land, nor any other vessel. Our water ran out, and we were reduced to the extreme length of having to drink our own urine. Just as we were getting ready to do so however, we ran aground.

The island we landed on was, I believe, what is now known as Papua New Guinea. They are very nice folk now, but at the time quite dedicated to killing and eating their enemies. The captain in his usual delusional state thought we'd arrived at Southampton Dock, and ran ashore before we could stop him. When the natives were finished with him, the only thing left was his beard, which we managed to retrieve and sneak aboard in the middle of the night.

Percy, Baldrick and I got the ship moving and very soon after managed to get to a large piece of land south of the cannibals' island. There we met some friendlier people and a couple of Spaniards who spoke Latin and so were able to communicate. They graciously helped us fill all of our barrels with sweet water, and in trade for the clothing and trinkets in Rum's ship's locker along with some tools, loaded us up with bundles of dried meat and various fruits, also dried, all carefully wrapped in the leaf of some plant which we were assured would keep the rats from eating them.

The secret to surviving our voyage, we were told, was to eat the food as we normally would, not try to make it last longer than it ought. It would spoil and then be wasted. No, eat and keep strong, and when the food is gone, catch fish and cook them, they said. And as for water, keep the empty barrels but take the tops off and when it rains, put the barrels topside to collect the rain. Their last gift to us was nearly two gross of oranges, each wrapped and carefully packed in the hold as the dried foods had been, with orders to eat one a week including the rind to fight off scurvy.

They instructed us on how to best work the ship with the three of us only. We were confused at the beginning of our lessons and still fairly confused at the end, but the information they gave us was invaluable and got us safely home. We offered to sail them home but they'd taken wives and had children and so chose to stay behind. If it weren't for the kindness of these two Spaniards and the Australians with them (for I believe we had landed in Australia and they were Australian aborigines), we would surely have perished on the sea.

As it was, it took us nearly two full years to come to England again. They drew a crude chart and pointed us west. We sailed past many islands, and finally came to Africa. From there we sailed south around the Horn, and then north. Our homeland was not nearly as easy to find as one might think. But finally we did come home, and far fitter than when we left. We had only the clothes on our backs when we returned, and on 8 August 1564 we boldly entered the castle at Richmond and demanded an audience with the Queen.

**8th August, 1564**

Lord Melchett was not helping Queen Elizabeth with his jokes about Blackadder and his two friends being eaten by cannibals. But it had been two and a half years and some days even she had a difficult time believing they would come back. Then, the Gentleman Usher opened the doors to the Privy Chamber and in strode three rather wild-looking men. They were deeply tanned and whipcord thin, and—

"Ma'am," one said.

"Edmund, you're alive!" Her joy was unspeakable at that moment.

"Yes," he said.

"And your silly friend."

"Lord Percy, ma'am."

"And your monkey." She couldn't resist, and Baldrick seemed to enjoy the joke.

"Your Majesty," Baldrick said.

It was a party for everyone but Nursie, desolate after hearing the news that her beloved Captain Rum had been eaten by cannibals. She was given Rum's beard as a consolation and promptly put it on.

"However, ma'am," Blackadder said—and wasn't he dashing, Elizabeth thought—"I am now returned, and my mind cannot help remembering talk of wedding bells."

Then it was that her imp returned. "No. I'm completely bored with explorers and if you haven't brought me any presents, I'm going to have you executed."

"Ma'am!" Blackadder's loss of color was noticeable even through his tan.

Strange, after more than five years she still found it endearing when he blanched. Well, he must have known she'd want presents. Any kind of gift at all, actually, from the man she'd been waiting for for two and a half years.

Finally he presented her with a flat, curved piece of wood which Percy demonstrated very effectively by throwing it and then being laid out full length on the tiled floor when it came back and hit him in the head. Nursie had the beard, of course, but then there was Melchett and the explorer fellow. They should have gifts, too.

It seemed Blackadder and the other two men were better prepared to give a gift to Melchett than they had been to give her a gift. Out came the bottle of "wine", a yellowish vintage. A tankard was filled for Melchett and the explorer, and they drank deeply before they had a chance to react. As funny as Blackadder, Percy and Baldrick thought it was, the Queen was displeased and bade them not to come back until they had gone home and cleaned themselves up, figuratively and literally.

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**_**The Tragedy of Gorboduc,**_ the earliest English tragedy in blank verse, was written by the two Toms—Thomas Sackville and Thomas Norton and was first performed before Queen Elizabeth the First on the 18th of January, 1561. **

**This is the first half of a rather long section; I promise I will post the second half next week! Please notice I have changed the canon but little; my overtaxed imagination has filled in the rest. :-) Please review and let me know what you think! Thanks for reading 3 .**


	9. Chapter 9

**Sorry this is so short, but the next chapter starts 1565 and I felt it appropriate to end this chapter at the end of the account for 1564. Here Blackadder is set up for the Black Monks debacle, and his position as Queenie's favorite seems to be cemented again . . . **

**The usual disclaimer: I do not own Blackadder or any of the associated characters, nor am I receiving any kind of remunerations for this story. Dear owners of Blackadder, please don't sue me, for you will get nothing as I am poor as a church-mouse. :-)**

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**Wednesday and Thursday, 9th and 10th August, 1564**

Clouds obscured the moon as Blackadder pulled a large key from his pocket and opened the door to his house in Drury Lane. He and Baldrick reeled back from the bad air that greeted them.

"Oh, what a stench! Baldrick, this rivals your trousers. Go inside and open every window."

Baldrick, who had just sailed halfway around the world twice if not all the way around once, held back. "But I don't want to go inside, my lord."

Blackadder turned a kindly eye on his servant. "What did you just call me."

"My lord, my lord."

"Yes. And since I give you a place to sleep and pay you wages for reasons known only to God, you must do as I say. Go inside—" Blackadder gave the man a push into the dark house—"and open every window."

From deep inside the house came the sound of windows being opened, then a yell from Baldrick.

"What's happened, Baldrick?" Blackadder called through the door.

"My lord, some unwanted guests have moved in."

"You don't mean the French have taken my house?"

"No, my lord, more like mice and rats."

"Oh, well, that's all right, then." Blackadder walked into the main room of his house, where Baldrick stood with a candlestick. Lightning flashed through the open windows and a breeze blew the curtains inward. All the furniture was covered with large white cloths, including the table with chairs upended on top of it. Baldrick pulled the cloth off the table and a cloud of dust filled the room. When he was done coughing Blackadder pulled a chair down and sat. Just as quickly, he got up again.

"Wouldn't you know it? You just get in the door and you've got to go." He walked into the bathroom and closed the door. At that moment lightning cracked nearly on top of the house and as the rain began to pour, Baldrick ran around the house closing up all the windows he'd just labored to open.

A minute after he reentered the main room, the door to the bathroom opened and Blackadder walked slowly out, dripping wet from head to toe.

"Remind me once again why I decided to have a toilet put inside the house."

"So that you could go to the toilet without being out in all kinds of weather, my lord."

Blackadder shook his arms and water flew from the wet sleeves of his shirt.

"As I thought. In our absence, the roof over the house of office seems to have disappeared. I am going to bed, Baldrick. I hope when I wake up tomorrow the world will be right-side up again and I can get on with my miserable life."

The following morning, while Baldrick finished wiping down the walls with a rag, Blackadder sat at the table looking over his financial books.

"Two and a half years is a long time for a house to be closed up, Baldrick," he said. "There are a number of large and small rodents to get rid of, the roof needs to be repaired, and I need a new suit of clothes from the tailor. And a proper hair cut." He checked the figures once again. "I'm just at the upper limit, but I should be able to go to my bank and take out a loan for the entire thing."

Baldrick went outside to dump the bucket of cleaning water. When he returned, he had a rather odd look on his face.

"Yes, what is it now, Baldrick? Have a family of very large rabbits made away with what remains of your turnip patch?"

"No, my lord, but there's something outside I think you should see."

A minute later Blackadder stood on the street side of his house staring at his walls. As far as a man could reach, they were covered with graffiti. The faintest, oldest ones seemed to refer to his shooting at the little girl when that damned explorer had come into town. The rest seemed to be epithets regarding him and his horse. A minute after that, Blackadder was back in his main room at the table again, his head in his hands.

"What am I going to do, Baldrick? Carpenters and roofers and plasterers cost money, and I have none. The amount I need now is beyond what my bank will lend."

"Well, what about the ship, my lord? Since you sailed it into port, isn't it yours by right of salvage? You could sell it and make some money."

"No, I can't. The original owner came down and impounded it on basis of nonpayment by Rum. I don't even have that for collateral."

"There is one other possibility, my lord."

Blackadder lifted his head from his hands. "And just what is that?"

"You could go to the Black Monks of St. Herod. They loan any amount and you're safe so long as you pay it back within a year."

"I've heard some dicey things about that bunch, Baldrick. Are you sure they're all right to borrow from?"

"All my friends who are still living say they are."

And so I was forced to do the very thing I did not want to do: borrow from the Black Monks. Their terms were exorbitant, but they gave me a year to pay back the loan with all the interest. I contracted slaters to fix the roof, plasterers to re-plaster the walls, and carpenters to restore the house of office to its former glory, and I hired the tailor to make two new suits of clothes. The finishing touch was a visit to the barber to have my hair cut and my beard neatly trimmed.

"Good day to you, Thomas," I said as I sat down.

"Oh, good day to you, Lord Blackadder!" The bluff man looked at me with a critical eye. "I hear you've been off adventuring, and there was talk you might have been eaten by cannibals in some strange place or other."

"No, I am quite well, thank you Thomas."

"Well, I am glad to see you back, good sir. Come to have a tooth pulled, then?"

"No, just a hair cut, if you please."

"Sure you don't have a lance needs boiled?"

"My lance is fine, as are my rapier and dagger. If you would just give me a proper hair cut and trim my beard, I would be happy to actually pay you for the fine service you provide."

"Well, all right, then." And he began, and in a very short time had me looking far more like a member of the court than the vagabond sailor I had been.

"Are you finished?" I asked as he stood back and surveyed his work. The man was good, I'll give him that.

"Aye, though you are looking a big rough, if you'll forgive me saying so, a bit high in color—"

"I do not need any leeches applied to any part of my anatomy, nor do I need to be bled. You are a good cutter of hair, Thomas." I felt my beard and was satisfied, so paid him well and left.

I was still in the black shirt and trousers I had worn when we'd returned from the voyage. They were, quite literally, the only clothes I had. Remembering the Queen's admonition, I knew I must go home and have Baldrick wash the pants and shirt.

It was while I was sitting in my bath waiting for the clothing to dry that I heard Percy's reedy voice in the main room going on about something. A moment later and Baldrick knocked on the door, then poked his head round it.

"Beg your pardon, my lord, but Lord Percy's here with a shirt, doublet and hose he says you can borrow until your new ones come from the tailor."

"Does he indeed? Let me see what he has brought."

"Um, it's dark blue, looks like it will fit you."

"Well, fetch it for me, man! And thank Percy for me, as well."

Manners were inexpensive, but often brought a great return, so I lavished them on Percy—when the occasion called for it.

Percy was no longer than I in the body, therefore the shirt and doublet fit well. The breeches were slightly large in the waist and rather long in the thigh and the hose were slightly long, but with careful tying of points the difference was not noticeable. It was with pleasure that I combed my newly cut hair and beheld in the glass a much different man than I had seen this morning. I walked out into the main room.

"Oh, Edmund, you do look good in that color!" Percy stepped forward and tugged the doublet down in the back. "It fits you perfectly!"

"Thank you, Percy, for your generosity."

"I'm sure the women will find you stunning, I know I do."

"Yes, that will be enough, Percy."

"I thought, Edmund must have something nice to wear before the Queen."

"Then by all means, let us go to see her before I go mad and kill something . . . or someone . . ."

"Oh, you know, I can't go, I'm seeing a certain maiden tonight."

"Very well." I put my hand to Percy's back and helped him to the door. "Thank you for the lend of clothing, and I'll be seeing you again, I'm sure."

Feeling very much more like my old self in most ways, I returned to Court the following day to present myself to the Queen and share with her my account of the voyage I had taken with Percy and Baldrick.

I walked into the Privy Chamber where, the Gentleman Usher informed me, the Queen had decided to spend the afternoon catching up on a lot of paperwork. She looked up from her desk as I entered the room.

"Lord Blackadder! You look much spiffier than you did the last time I saw you."

"Thank you, madam." I bowed and waited for her permission to sit.

"Do you know I prorogued parliament? Totally closed them down, and I've been running things myself, and doing a good job of it, too!"

"Might I inquire why, Majesty?"

"Well, because ever since you left, Parliament have been after me to either marry or name an heir to the throne. 'You're not getting any younger, your Majesty.' As if I were going to kick the bucket tomorrow!"

"I'm sure there's some concern about the succession, ma'am." I took the chair she waved me to.

"They may have all the concern they like," she said peevishly. "I've been telling everyone I'm not marrying anyone, mainly to get Lord Bell to stop bothering me, but he would insist. That old Robert Bell, I'm sure Dudley put him up to it."

"Yes, madam, I seem to have heard on the way in that Lord Dudley has been very busy in my absence . . ."

"Oh?" She was suddenly all innocence, and though I knew she was teasing me, I allowed myself to be goaded.

"Well, I hadn't been gone a little more than half a year when you made him a member of the Privy Council. And you'd just had him banished from Court not a year previously!"

"Don't forget the Black Plague."

"Majesty?"

"We had the Plague here last year; thousands and thousands of people must've been very busy."

Immediately I was contrite, but still hating Dudley. "Madam, please forgive me."

"Already done. Anyway, I've got big plans for Dudley. I'm going to make him an Earl twice over."

If I had learned nothing else on my voyage, I had learned to control those urges to suddenly grab Percy and squeeze his neck until his eyes bulged. The same control was useful now in not showing my disappointment. I'd been gone two and a half years, I'd made the voyage she'd encouraged me to make, and I'd come back alive, even bearing gifts, such as they were. And what was my return for all that? Robert Dudley had maneuvered his way back into the Queen's graces and her favor. But by the same token, what had I ever given her? The least costly possession I had, that required no effort on my part—only myself. And as much as I loved myself and loved my life, it was a joke of a gift, nearly a worthless thing.

I changed the subject. "I know you said you'd gone off adventurers, madam, but would you be interested in what happened to Baldrick, Percy and I on our voyage?"

"Really Blackadder, by now I think I've heard every story an adventurer could tell. Although I'm sure you saw many horrible monsters and had all sorts of gruesome things happen to you."

"No, ma'am, the most extraordinary creature I saw on the entire voyage was Baldrick, and the most gruesome adventure was when we got lost East of Africa."

"Well, _that_ had to be pretty boring."

"In fact I had a great deal of time to think, my lady, when I wasn't trying to plot our course using a nail, a thread torn from my doublet, and the stub of an old pencil."

"Really? And did you think of me?"

"Yes, ma'am, I did." I wanted to tell her I'd come to realize I loved her. I wanted to tell her I would be willing to give up everything (well, almost everything—well, some things) if I could marry her and be her prince and give her babies. When all was said and done, the only thing that kept me going for those two and a half years was the thought of Elizabeth. But now that I had the opportunity, I found I couldn't say those things. Not yet. Instead, I smiled.

"I thought only of returning to England and to you, Majesty."

"Oh Edmund, how sweet." She stood and held out her hands, which I took, and presented her cheek to me to kiss, which I did. "Now leave me alone so I can get my work done. Running the country all by myself isn't as easy as it looks, you know!"

I was just at the door when she called me. "Oh, and Ned?"

"Yes, madam?" I stopped with my hand on the door.

"I never told Parliament I wouldn't marry you."

"Yes, madam." And I walked out a very puzzled man. What did women mean, I wondered, when they said they hadn't done something? Did it mean they had done its opposite, or that they were thinking of doing it? I was less enlightened when I left the Queen than when I had gone in to see her.

**Thursday and Friday, 28th and 29th September, 1564**

On the twenty-eighth of September, the Queen's erstwhile favorite Lord Dudley was made Earl of Denbigh. After a service of worship in the chapel, Dudley was led to the pages' chamber to wait. The Queen entered the Presence Chamber under her banner and was seated on the throne. Then "the Earl of Denbigh" was led by the Marquis of Perry and the Earl of Weskit into the chamber under a banner bearing his arms, Viscount D'Aubergine bearing the sword by which he would be dubbed. The Letters Patent followed, which were read by Mr. Lambeth. After the ceremony the new earl dined in the Privy Chamber, and he was announced to all as Robert, Lord Dudley, the Earl of Denbigh. The following day the same ceremonies took place and he was declared now Robert, Lord Dudley, the Earl of Denbigh, the Earl of Leicester.

Now that he was so titled, Dudley found himself in an interesting position. Only thirty-two years of age, he was even more desirable to titled families who desired to cement their position by marrying into his family. News of his advancement reached Mary in Scotland and brought no reaction. He might have been too busy to respond even if she had sent communication; he was now receiving admirers and those hoping to obtain a position in his shadow, and this kept him far more occupied than previously, especially with his new duties as Chancellor of the University of Oxford. As hated as Dudley was, few were happier at this development than Lord Edmund Blackadder.

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**The "house of office"—the bathroom—was just beginning to be put inside houses in the late 1500's. Barbers then and for several centuries afterward also pulled teeth and practiced medicine (using the word loosely). Elizabeth really did make Dudley Earl of Denbigh and Earl of Leiscester in 1564. The ceremony occurred pretty much as I have written, though the names of certain nobility have been changed to protect me in case their descendents are still living. ;-) Reviews are most welcome, and thank you so much for reading.**


	10. Chapter 10

**In which Edmund sails the Thames, his bottom is threatened, Black Arrow gets a lot of exercise, and Edmund gets a migraine.**

**The usual disclaimer: I do not own Blackadder or any associated characters, and historical figures just have to suck it up and deal with how I have treated them. If I did**** own Blackadder, you can be assured we would still be enjoying his exploits and laughing ourselves silly at Baldrick. ;-)**

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**1565**

Mary Queen of Scots, perhaps to spite the offer of Lord Dudley's hand in marriage two years earlier by Elizabeth, married Henry Stuart, Lord Darnley on 29th July. When the news arrived in London the court took its lead from the Queen, who shook her head and said Mary was not showing much wisdom.

"Nevertheless," she said, "She will enjoy our greetings and best wishes for a long and fruitful union."

That year was probably the closest thing to glorious Blackadder had experienced thus far in his life. He went riding with Elizabeth, he hunted with her, he sang to her, and in his own fashion and much to her amusement, danced with her. Though he did not have a seat on the Privy Council, she often talked over developments and decisions regarding foreign policy with him. This was not for her benefit; to the contrary, it was he who learned a great deal about the treaties, both written and unwritten, that England had with various nations. All in preparation, as he later might have admitted, for the time he would ascend the throne.

Perhaps he became too self-assured, or asserted himself too much. But the day came in autumn when Elizabeth's personal imp came to the fore. For all the familiarity he had with her, he still was her subject and she was still his Queen.

**Thursday - Monday, 9th - 13th August, 1565**

I always enjoyed the opportunity to get out of London. The stench of sewage and open ﬁres and rotting things seen and unseen, normally unnoticed in the colder months, blossomed and ﬂourished in the summer heat and became quite unbearable. And so it was I walked the grounds of Hampton Court Palace with a light heart. Today I was riding with Elizabeth. We were to ride the banks of the Thames far upstream, and at a particular spot meet one of her royal ships and have dinner aboard as we drifted back down to London where our horses would be waiting for us, having been brought back. I had planned to stay that night at the house in Billingsgate, and arranged for Baldrick to wait for me there.

After we ate we walked the deck, enjoying the fresh air and taking in the scenery. Elizabeth stopped at the railing near the bow.

"You know, Edmund," she said, "I've been thinking."

"Yes, madam?"

"Well, you know after Lord Dudley's wife died I thought I'd marry him, but then I knew if I did everybody would think I had her killed so that I could marry him. And when you came back, I thought I would marry you even though I had gone off adventurers."

Indeed? And how was a man to know these things?

"Had you heard after Mary of Scotland's husband Francis died I offered Dudley to her for a husband while you were gone?"

"I had heard something of the kind upon my return, now I think about it, ma'am."

"She didn't want him. I don't understand why."

"It could be because he had been your—favorite, madam. Perhaps she didn't want to deprive you of his company."

"Well, that was stupid. If she'd married him, I was figuring on eventually making her heir to my throne. But she's gone and married Lord Darnley, and together they have a pretty strong claim to it anyway. So now I need to marry a man of nobility in order to make sure they don't take the throne by a coup."

Was I about to be made an Earl? "Surely your Majesty is too kind," I said.

"No, I'm not. Dudley'll only be getting what I told him I would give him ages ago."

"Ah, he's for the chop, then?"

"No, silly Blackadder. I'm going to give him my hand in marriage."

For a moment I was speechless, then I found my tongue. I picked it up off the deck of the ship and dusted it off. "Well, quite, madam. No doubt you are doing as you see fit." I couldn't bring myself to say anything else, and we finished the voyage in silence. The Queen appeared to enjoy herself, and when we docked near Whitehall I debarked unnoticed.

The sun was low on the horizon when I rode down the Strand to what is now called Tudor Street, and toward home. When I came to where I should have turned toward my house, I didn't. Instead I made my way to the Knight and Swan, a tavern of less than honorable repute where I occasionally conducted business.

"Ah, Lord Blackadder!" The man behind the low wall seperating the tables from the door into his house greeted me with a smile. "Haven't seen you in a while."

"No indeed, William.. I'll have an ale. And after that, I'll have another."

I sat down in a dark corner and drank the ales down, then ordered two more. Somehow I ended up home, helping a young prostitute named Mollie off my horse. We managed to get inside and into my bed without waking Baldrick, who had quit waiting up for me with all the time I had been spending at court. Nevertheless, my servant was completely unphased when he woke me very early the next morning to inform me I had a caller.

It turned out to be the baby-eating Bishop of Bath and Wells, the Assistant Manager of the Bank of the Black Monks of St. Herod, and he had come to collect the thousand pounds the Black Monks had lent me exactly a year ago. He was not at all a pleasant man, and he grew even less pleasant when I told him I'd lost my wallet. I had no money, that was true enough. What was worse, he knew Mollie—quite well, it seemed, as one of his favorite "games" with her was Nuns and Novices. After reminding her to bring her wimple for the night's entertainment, he dragged me out of my bed and forced me to get dressed at sword-point.

I was harried to the cemetery where I was shown the tombstone of one of the Black Monks' ex-customers. " . . . Died 1563: in agony, with a spike up his bottom," I read.

"I think you . . . get my message," the Bishop said.

Even the cemetary's mad beggar hanging onto my leg couldn't distract me. "Yes, yes indeed," I said. I made a show of nonchalance by inspecting my nails. "But tell me, Bishop, let me test the water here, so to speak. Suppose I was to say to you something like, 'I'm a close friend of the queen's and I think she'd be very interested to hear about you and Mollie and the wimple, so why don't we just call it quits, eh, fatso?' "

The Bishop was unmoved. "I would say, firstly, the Queen would not believe you, and secondly . . . you'll regret calling me fatso, later on today." He wielded a red-hot poker in my direction.

"Ah." I wondered what fire he had pulled it from, and decided I didn't want to know.

"I will have my money by Evensong tonight or . . . your bottom will wish it had never been born." He disappeared into a cloud of smoke, coughing.

I wasn't sure my life could get much worse, but I was soon to find it could.

Back at the house later that morning, I took my problem to Percy and Baldrick. I then confessed, shamelessly I must admit, that I had not only spent the entire thousand pounds I had borrowed from the Black Monks last year, but not done a thing to save up so I could pay them off. And not only had I not saved any money to pay the loan, I had also pinched and spent all but eighty-five of the thousand pounds Percy had been saving, along with the two farthings Baldrick had stashed away.

My friends therefore could not help me. I told them I would think of something. I would have, too, had not a messenger arrived saying the Queen demanded my presence upon pain of death.

So upon pain of death I saddled and bridled my horse and tore down the streets to Whitehall, only to find it was her Majesty's idea of a joke to call me all the way across town and then pretend to forget why she had called me. And to tell the truth, I hoped to find she had changed her mind about Dudley.

"I _do_ know why I wanted to see you, and I just pretended I didn't and I fooled you and it worked _brilliantly_, didn't it?" She was playing with me, and there was nothing I could do. I was the Queen's man, after all.

"It was terrific, madam. Thank God I wore my corset, because I think my sides have split. So why did you want to see me?"

"To crack the lovely joke."

Melchett was right there with her, studiously not laughing in my face while the Queen made a fool of me in front of the court. And then, to add insult to injury, she made me give him the last money I had in the world, my eighty-five pounds that were going to help toward the thousand I needed to repay the Black Monks.

The clock rang eight when I stormed in through my front door. Baldrick laughed at my anger. Percy, that bag of wild emotion, hugged me as if I'd been gone for a year.

"Edmund, oh Edmund, I have awaited your return." He wasn't letting go of me.

"And thank God you did," I said, "for I was just thinking, 'My God, I die in twelve hours. What I really need now is a hug from a complete prat.' " I pushed him off me and went to my room, where I poured myself a whisky. Percy followed me. Good thing, actually, or I might have followed the first drink with a second and been useless for the rest of the day and dead in the evening.

"But I fear not," he said, "for I have a plan to save the life of my dear, dear friend."

"Look, I'm not interested in your bloody friends. What about me?" I still hadn't learned. Fortunately for Percy, he thought I was joking.

He then informed me he was going to discover the art of turning base metals into gold, and that would solve my money crisis. Nothing I could say would deter him, and he left to begin his experiment.

It was then that Baldrick, ever practical, came up with the idea of going down to the docks and selling my favors. I was appalled.

"Baldrick? Are you suggesting that I become . . . a rent boy?"

"Well, a good-looking chap like you, posh accent, nice legs, could make a bomb. Just stick a pink carnation in your hat and make the old sign."

"I'd rather die."

"Oh, fair enough, that's all right then. I'll put the kettle on while we wait, shall I?"

That was about as angry as Baldrick had ever gotten; his even temperament was a gift in many ways. He was a far more effective friend to me than if he'd been an effusive mess like Percy. I took his idea and turned it on its head, and we went down to the docks. I won't go into detail; it really isn't important now what transpired, save to say the entire evening netted us sixpence. We were throwing around ideas on how to grow that little bit when another messenger came from the Queen.

"My lord, the Queen does demand your urgent presence on pain of death."

Again pain of death. Again I rode like a madman to Whitehall and ran down the corridors and was shown into the Queen's Privy Chamber. When I entered, she was walking to and fro before Melchett and Nursie, a frown on her face.

"Madam, you wished to see me . . . again."

"Yes, Edmund." She was addressing me by name, but my back was still tight. A fall from the Queen's favor could very well mean a final fulfillment of her years-long threat to remove my head from my shoulders, which were now as tight as my back. "I wanted to apologize for the silly trick I played on you."

"Ah."

"It was naughty and bad of me."

Nursie spoke rather sternly. "Indeed it was, my little rosebud, and if you weren't quite so big, it would be time for Mr and Mrs Spank to pay a short sharp trip to Bottieland."

"Thank you, Nursie," Elizabeth said, humbled. "And thank you, Edmund."

"That's all?" I had been expecting something far worse.

"Yes, thanks for coming." She held out her hand and rather than kiss it I shook it. I wasn't going to be so easily bought.

Then I turned, as the permission given me to walk away from her had not yet been revoked, and went to the door. As I opened it, they began to laugh. Melchett could not stand up and was sitting on the throne with his arm around Nursie.

"That was very funny too, wasn't it?" the Queen said.

I was beginning to feel a bit dazed. "My lady?"

"Dragging you all the way across town again just to say sorry for dragging you all the way across town the first time. It was Melchett's idea. I think it's wonderful, don't you?"

"It's fantastic. Melchett, I prostrate myself at the feet of the world's greatest living comedian." And I'm lying to your face, I thought.

"Oh, you are _super_, Edmund." Even the Queen thought I was being a good sport. "Oh, Edmund, I promised Lord Melchett that I would play shove ha'penny with him, but we have no coin. Do you have a ha'penny?"

"Unfortunately only a sixpence, madam. What a shame . . . "

"Oh no," she said. "A sixpence will do just as well."

"Oh, good."

I got back to Billingsgate to discover Percy had discovered "green" rather than gold, and had fumigated my house in the process.

Time was getting short and I had not one cent to show for my frantic efforts thus far. There was nothing for it; I would have to sell a house. I far preferred the place on Drury Lane and hated to let the Billingsgate property go; I had owned it since the early days of Henry VIII. After a few hours, it went to a wealthy but less than choosy couple for eleven hundred pounds. That was enough to pay the Black Monks, leaving me a hundred pounds to live off until I could find my way back into Elizabeth's affections and her pocketbook.

As I was to vacate in a week, I had not yet left the Billingsgate house, and was sitting at the table counting the money and insulting Percy unmercifully.

"The eyes are open, the mouth moves, but Mr. Brain has long since departed, hasn't he, Percy?"

. . . when the messenger returned yet again.

"Ah, messenger! Thank God you've come." Sarcasm is one of my gifts. "Percy and I could not have waited another second without you."

My poor horse was getting as tired as I was; however, it was his good fortune not to be suffering from a hangover. Yet again my mount thundered through the streets of London to Whitehall, and yet again I was hurried through the corridors to the Privy Chamber. It had already been a long day, and I was tired, dirty, and headachy when I rushed in.

The Queen, Melchett and Nursie were not in their usual places and I strode to the throne mystified.

"Majesty!"

They were behind me, behind the door.

"Thank God you've arrived," the Queen said. "Terrible news."

"What?" I asked.

"The French intend to invade, Blackadder."

"My God!" Bad news indeed, although the way things were going I would not be alive to see it.

"So I need some money."

Of course. I slumped against the throne. "Ah."

Melchett then spoke up. "Yes, every nobleman must pay £500 towards the upkeep of the navy."

"But we've decided to make you a special case," the Queen said.

"Oh, thank you, ma'am." Maybe I would come out of this better than I thought.

"Melchy here hasn't got a bean, so we thought since you're so fabulously wealthy, you could pay for both."

"It would be awfully sweet of you," Melchett said.

There is a downside to lying, and that is that the people to whom you lie may believe you. I had been spreading lies about my nonexistent wealth for so long they had come to be accepted as truth by all. Once again the Queen took everything I had. I was out of time; no amount of clever planning would rescue me now. I said my goodbyes, knowing I would either be dead or out of the country by the next day, and rode home to pack and run. Until Baldrick told me the Black Monks were everywhere and would follow me wherever I went. If they couldn't get their money back they would take my life.

Desperation is creativity's catalyst. It is amazing how the dread of dying will clarify one's thoughts. Within only a few minutes I had concocted a plan which, if successful, would solve all of my problems in one fell swoop. Unfortunately it involved Percy dressing in a vulgar costume and posing with the drugged Bishop while a starving artist named Leonardo Acropolis painted the "portrait", but I knew I could take advantage of Percy's willingness to do anything for me. I suffered a minor twinge when the Bishop's robes were removed; he was dirty even for those days. It took a couple of glasses of wine and a little prompting by Baldrick and myself, and then Percy was game.

Acropolis was good, as many starving artists are to this day. In very little time he produced several detailed sketches and one very large, life-like painting of the Bishop apparently involved in horrendous things with a young woman whose face was turned away from the painter. I didn't express my thankfulness to Percy for his efforts on my behalf as I ought to have done, and I believe that was one of the things that led to our final rift. But that is for another day.

When the Bishop woke, with a slamming headache thanks to the drugged wine and much to my delight, he was stunned by the painting and agreed to give me everything I asked for. In the end I got £5,100, 10 shillings and 3 pence. The Bishop was free to go and the painting went into a hollow in one of the walls of the house at Billingsgate.

Not only was my debt to the Black Monks cancelled, but I was able to buy back my house from Mr. and Mrs. Pants and pay for the two doors the Bishop had thrown Baldrick through. Funny thing about Baldrick and doors . . . he was always going through them before they were opened. I remember buying some books and a new saddle for my horse. The next night I treated Percy and Baldrick to supper at Mrs. Miggins' Pie Shop. We ate too much, we drank too much, and they brought me home and put me to bed.

The next morning I was walking gingerly about the house debating whether I should try to eat something when there was a knock at the door.

I leaned carefully on the table in the main room and looked up. "Who on earth could that be, on a Sunday?"

"I don't know, my lord, but we'll find out," Baldrick said and he opened the door.

There stood a messenger of the Queen. "My Lord Blackadder, the Queen does demand your presence—"

"Upon pain of death, I know," I finished for him.

He got a puzzled look. "No, my lord, to have dinner with Her Majesty and Lord Melchett at one of the clock after they attend worship service."

I sighed. "Very well, I'll be there." The young man stood in the door, unsure of what he should do and I beckoned him in. "Here." I scribbled a few lines on a sheet of paper and quickly sealed it with wax and my signet. "Take this to Her Royal Majesty the Queen." I gave him the note and Baldrick helped him out the door.

"Well, it's about eleven now, my lord. If we move you steadily, you should be ready in time."

I waved a hand limply in the air and then settled it on my pounding head. "Yes, Baldrick, I'm not sure I'm ever going to be ready for the Queen."

He laughed and went to heat water for my bath.

The Gentleman Usher saw me into the Privy Chamber promptly at a quarter to one of the clock. My head ached so badly that my knees were a bit wobbly, but I was sure the Queen never saw me trembling as I carefully bowed and took the seat I was beckoned to. Melchett was there, of course, and he and the Queen were deep in conversation that seemed to involve me only at sporadic intervals. I made the appropriate noises and ate as little as I possibly could, out of fear that I might be sick all over the Queen's damask. I failed to notice we had a guest, so distracted was I by the pain in my head.

"Edmund, how can you be so impolite? Melchett and I have been talking to you, and Sir John has asked you the same question three times."

"Please forgive me. I'm afraid I'm not feeling well." I inclined my head to the man sitting opposite me at table. He was deeply tanned with dark hair and blue eyes that had spent too much time squinting at a tropical sun. The Queen had said earlier he was a sea captain, Sir John Hawkyns. And something about going into business with him, too—renting him a ship or something, for his next voyage.

"No offense taken," the man said in a deep voice. "I was only remarking that I thought you might be interested in learning of the tobacco and potato I have brought back with me."

"Tobacco?" I repeated the strange word slowly. "What is that, pray tell?"

"It is the leaf of a plant that grows quite tall in the West Indies," Hawkyns said as he leaned back, quite happy to have secured the attention of all at table. "The natives pluck the leaves and dry them, then break up the dried leaves, which they put into a utensil called a pipa, catch fire to it so that it smolders, and inhale the fumes."

I took another small bite of roast venison and chewed thoughtfully, then had a sip of wine. "It sounds like something the savages would do." I didn't think to mention to him my travels to what is now Australia and Papua New Guinea, or the way Captain Rum had been stewed and eaten.

He laughed, taking my serious demeanor for timidity. "Oh, come, sir! I have tried it myself and find it invigorating."

I remembered then who he was and why I did not like him. On the same voyage where he had discovered tobacco and the potato, he had hijacked a Portuguese slave ship and sold the hapless Africans in Santo Domingo. Three hundred souls had been traded like so many bales of silk, and all for the profit of his London investors. I wondered how much of this Elizabeth knew.

"Ah." I pulled a piece of bread from the loaf in front of me and toyed with it, not having the appetite to even sop up the venison juices on my plate. "Well, I must remember to try some at my next opportunity."

"You can do so any time," Hawkyns said. "I have given a small bundle of the dried leaves to her majesty's physician."

I wanted dearly to curl up and die. The headache had gone from simple hangover into what I am sure now was a migraine, or as we called them then, a megrim. It certainly had me feeling grim. And then I began to see black spots—I was in serious danger of passing out. As much as I hated to appear weak, I stood up to excuse myself.

"Majesty, have I your permission to leave? I'm afraid I am decidedly unwell . . ."

"Oh Blackadder, you're white as a sheet! I should have noticed, but then I've been thinking about the _Jesus of Lubeck_ and Sir Hawkyn's next voyage." She shooed me toward the door. "Go see Marbeck, he will give you a powder."

I managed to leave the room gracefully, but once in the corridor leaned against the wall and prayed I would not faint. In my sick condition it was all I could do to make it to Marbeck's rooms. All the while I was walking there, leaning heavily with one hand against the cool stone, I kept thinking there was something about Lubeck I should be concerned about, but couldn't think what it might be.

Marbeck pulled me into his room and sat me down on a cushioned chair. "You look like death, Blackadder."

I couldn't lift my head to look at him; the candles on the desk were knives of light piercing my eyes. Marbeck drew his chair over in front of me and sat down, lifting my my head to look into my eyes.

"Have you eaten anything strange?" By that he meant, had I eaten anything that had not been served to the Queen, and already tested for poison.

"No." My voice sounded strangled. "It's just my head."

"Not all poisons give you a belly-ache, you know," Marbeck said quietly as he pushed me gently back in the chair. "Can you undo your doublet, or shall I?" I lifted one hand and waved him on. With deft fingers he had the doublet and my shirt unbuttoned and then put a hand on my chest.

"Try to be quiet, can you?" he asked and he put his ear to my chest and listened. It was then I realized that I had been moaning from the pain, and I did my best to stop.

"Dizzy? But not sick to your stomach?" He sat back and buttoned my shirt but left my doublet open.

I nodded yes and no and then yes again when he asked if I was feeling cold.

"This looks like migraine, Blackadder. Can you stand to walk?" Together we got me up and he steered me to a couch, where I laid down.

"You won't be going home tonight, I'm afraid. Is your man waiting for you?" Meaning, of course, Baldrick, who was not.

I shook my head slightly. "Horse."

"I don't think he'll be happy to hear you've spoken of him like that," Marbeck joked from his table where he mixed something in a goblet. Physicians have not changed in five hundred years; they still seem to think if they are funny it will lessen your pain. I remember him lifting my head and saying, "Drink this up. It's bitter, isn't it? The whole thing, thank you. And I will see you in the morning, God willing."

I awoke to the smell of spiced apples and bread toasting over the fire, along with some other odor I could not place. I opened my eyes and there was Marbeck, in a dark green robe and a much abused cap, standing at the table with a plate.

"Lord Blackadder!" He moved quickly to pull the curtains over a window where the sun was shining brightly in. "How are you this morning?"

I took a deep breath. The pain was gone, and I felt as loose-jointed and languid as a newborn babe. With care I pulled myself up to a sitting position and looked around me to see where I was, then back at the doctor.

"I seem to be quite well," I said, "and somewhat hungry."

"Good!" He hastened over to me and put the plate in my lap. "Eat this. And—" he brought another goblet and set it on the table at my elbow— "drink this." The plate held slices of toasted bread with something brownish on it.

Now, I appreciate good food, but I'm really not the most adventurous man when it comes to trying new things; I never have been. But I didn't think Marbeck, who was barely thirty at the time, was going to kill the Queen's favorite. He had nothing to gain from it and everything to lose. So I took a bite of the toasted bread and chewed.

"Eat the whole piece. That's a paste of roasted apples with honey added."

I obediently ate the toast and licked my fingers, then took the goblet and looked into it. The liquid was dark and warm, but it was not spiced wine or ale. I sniffed the contents, waited a moment and then sniffed again. Whatever it was, it was not unpleasant smelling.

"What is this, Doctor?" If I used his title he might be more willing to tell me what it was he had given me. If I knew Marbeck, nothing he gave anyone was meant to have anything but a restorative effect.

"Now, that," he said, quite pleased with himself, "is something I brought back from France a few years ago when I went to study with old Paré. His ideas on medicine are most advanced, did you know? Well, a friend of his had been to the Holy Land and brought him back some roasted seeds from a plant they call kawa, or kaveh. It seems the Mohammedans grind these seeds and pour hot water on them, then drink the resulting infusion. Doctor Paré found it most exilarating, and was kind enough to send a bag home with me."

He sat on the edge of his table. "Of course I had to see for myself. After careful experimentation I discerned that the beverage you are about to drink—oh yes, you are—" (for I had begun to shake my head) "—the beverage you are going to drink, Blackadder, will aid you greatly in recuperating from your migraine."

"But I feel fine," I objected.

"That was your first migraine, wasn't it? Tried to stand up yet?" Marbeck crossed his arms and smiled.

"No . . . "

"Please, Lord Blackadder. Drink the kava before it gets cold."

I obediently drank the entire contents of the goblet. It was slightly bitter, and had a flavor that reminded me of smoke and earth and nuts all at once. And Doctor Marbeck was right; I began to feel better, and was soon able to get up and move around. I fastened my doublet and buckled my sword around my hips.

"How can I repay you?" I asked as I put one hand on the door.

He looked at me carefully. "I am physician to her majesty the Queen. I doubt you can give me anything more valuable than your friendship."

This warmed me to the man. In all the years I had been with Elizabeth, I had never had need of his services, and so had only the barest acquaintance with him. I bowed.

"Very well, sir. When next I call upon the Queen, I shall visit you as well."

He smiled. "I should be pleased."

The chamberlain had my hat. The Queen was no where to be found, so quite probably doing paperwork or meeting with a foreign official of state. I found my horse had spent a warm night in the stables and was more than ready for the ride home. Baldrick welcomed me with no questions asked, although I knew he was curious. I was, for once, more than happy to tell him about my time with Marbeck and his wonderful medicines.

* * *

**Hello, dear readers! I wanted to express my thanks for the IMs and constructive criticisms I have received thus far, and to apologize if I have missed anyone in replying. It being so near Christmas, the ball of gelatin in my skull that passes for a brain of late has been quite occupied—but I am happy to be able to update before the 25th.**

**It is popularly believed that Sir Francis Drake brought the lowly potato to England in 1580, but there are some who say Sir John Hawkyns is the man who introduced the potato, earlier than Drake (who captained his own ship in association with Hawkyns for several decades). Sir John Hawkyns really existed and was, among other things, a slave-trader. I have taken liberties with his time-line, as the Jesus of Lubeck, with Hawkyns as captain, sailed from Plymouth in 1564 and did not return until October of 1565. Tobacco was introduced to Europe long before Hawkyns claimed in my story to have brought it, and, along with coffee, chocolate, and other old/new world discoveries, was used medicinally before taken as refreshment. Coffee and chocolate were served cold. I couldn't give Blackie a cold drink after his migraine though, so had Marbeck serve his coffee hot. :-) Marbeck really existed and was, for his time, well-up on the most current medical discoveries and treatments. **

**Please review—reviews make me feel good!—and thanks again for reading. :-D**


	11. Chapter 11

**In which Edmund and Queenie get some things straight, Melchett is found at death's door, and a good time is had by all.**

**I am so sorry I have not updated, but the holidays and a 3,000 mile trip across the country and back kept me busy!**

* * *

**January 1, 1566**

The Presence Chamber in Whitehall was, as usual on the New Year's day, filled to overflowing with lords and ladies and other hangers-on at Court, all vying for the Queen's favor. They were more richly dressed than at any other time of the year, and it was a sight to behold. On this day alone a woman might be excused for wearing a more lavish gown than her majesty. The trumpets began to announce the Queen's progress through the castle to the chamber.

"All bow before the Queen!" came the call of the Gentleman Usher. Blackadder could imagine those in the corridor backing against the walls and bowing as she swept past, pearls and other gems occasionally dropping from her gown in her wake. He had not been to Court since last August, and his reappearance was causing as much a stir as his absence had. For some perverse reason, the attention pleased him.

The double doors opened and the Gentleman Usher stepped just inside. "Your Queen," he said, and stepped back out. The Queen then entered the room, gliding up to the throne and seating herself. Today she was in a simple gown of bluish-green with only a few strands of small pearls at her throat, along with the ever-present crown of jewels and pearls nestled in her flame-red hair.

"You'd think this would be the day she would want to shine," Blackadder remarked to Lord Melchett.

Melchett, whose only physical change in the years Blackadder had known him was to gain a little girth, rocked back on his heels. "No, Blackadder. Today she dresses plainly in order that the gifts of her subjects may shine the more."

"She would have to be naked for some of them to seem to shine," Blackie muttered.

"Well, not all of us can afford to give our persons to the Queen," the Queen's advisor retorted dryly.

"Look at all the people. We'll be lucky to be eating by three, it's going to take so long for her to receive all the gifts." The Queen's favorite frowned at the crowd.

"Patience, Blackadder, patience. Patience is a virtue, remember."

"So is supper, when I can get it. I heard this New Year's supper is going to be the most elaborate feast ever."

Percy had brought him the news before the Christ Masse, saying someone he knew had told him this year the Queen just might exceed the wondrous banquets her father, Henry VIII, had been known for. Every kind of wonderful food and every kind of heart-warming drink was going to be had in abundance; they were sure to be merry tonight.

"All right!" the Queen announced loudly enough to get everyone's attention. "I am ready to receive the gifts of my dearest, most loyal subjects, starting with those who are closest to me."

A good-natured murmur drifted across the crowded room.

"Except—" she paused for effect, "—for Lord Blackadder. In giving himself to me six years ago, he has given me everything that is his."

"Oh, not everything, my little bundle of dandelion down," Nursie interjected.

Blackadder's eyebrows lifted and those nearest the throne chuckled, pleased to have been let in on this bit of personal humor.

"I can feel the heat of your blush, Blackadder," Melchett murmured, greatly satisfied at Blackadder's embarrassment.

"Come on, Melchett, quit whispering and give me my present." The Queen silenced further taunting, but while the others presented her with their gifts, Lord Blackadder was obviously lost in thought. He remained so into dinner.

"You are still distracted, I see, my lord," Percy's tenor pierced the loud chaos of a dozen conversations going on at once at the table.

"Hmm? Oh, Percy, I see you made it after all." Blackadder was indeed distracted, and it wasn't the roasted rabbits or the doves in gravy that had captured his thoughts.

"We have been asked to join her majesty in the Privy Chambers, Edmund. I'm so excited!" Percy nearly hit the woman seated next to him with his handkerchief.

"Yes, do try to control yourself, Percy; you look as if you were flagging a man-of-war."

Percy tittered, ignoring what was, for Blackadder, a very mild insult. "You will be joining us, my lord?"

"I don't know, Percy." He looked up, a questioning glance. "Is my presence required, on pain of death perhaps?"

"I don't think so."

"Then maybe I'll beg off tonight." Blackadder stood to excuse himself.

"Oh, you can't!" Percy put his hand on Blackadder's arm. Blackadder gave Percy a look and Percy removed his hand with a simpering smile.

"Very well." Blackadder was tired, but he knew that if he did not show up the next day the Court would be abuzz with gossip about how he had fallen out of favor and the Queen already had a new favorite, and who was it?

Percy stood. "Then let us go, by all means."

Half an hour later, Elizabeth Queen of England and Ireland, etc. was at the head of the table in her Privy Chamber. Seated with her were Lord Melchett on her right hand, Lord Blackadder on her left hand, and Lord Percy at the foot of the table. The candelabra was ablaze and a log burned in the fireplace. The room was warm and the scent of dried roses permeated the air.

"I must say, Lord Blackadder, I was most pleased to see you back this morning," Melchett said as he popped a few dried cherries into his mouth.

"And why was that?" Blackadder asked. "Didn't expect to see me, did you, Melchett? Something to do with my unexpected death in August by means of a hot poker at the hands of the Bishop of Bath and Wells, perhaps?"

"What is this?" Melchett was truly surprised.

The Queen was no less taken aback. "That naughty Bishop! We'll have to have a talk with him about his methods."

"Well, you might have a talk with him about his victims," Blackadder said.

"Oh, that won't be necessary," Percy chirped. "Edmund has drawn the Bishop's sting, haven't you, Edmund?"

"You might say so." Trying to stop Percy from talking was difficult. Ordering him outright would be insulting—not that Blackadder minded very much insulting Percy—and subtlety was seldom effective.

"But why was the Bishop after you, Lord Blackadder?" the Queen's advisor asked.

Blackadder opened his mouth to speak but Percy beat him to it. "It was on account of Edmund's owing the Black Monks a thousand pounds—"

"Percy," Blackadder said quietly.

"—and Edmund almost had it once and did have it another time—"

"Percy . . ."

"—but then he lost it, and the Bishop of Bath and Wells was going to kill him by putting a red hot poker up his—"  
"Percy!" Blackadder snapped, then resumed his normal tone of voice. "I don't think the Queen and Melchett are interested in my sordid financial dealings."

"But of course we are!" Elizabeth twirled her spoon in a frothy dessert. "Aren't we, Melchy?"

"I do think Lord Blackadder seems a bit reluctant to discuss the matter, madam ."

She tapped him on the head with her spoon. "I said, _aren't we, Melchy?_"

"Yes indeed, madam, most interested." Melchett turned to Blackadder. "Although I fail to see why you found it necessary to take out a loan with the Black Monks."

"Why he took it out wasn't important," Percy assured them. "How he repaid it was."

"What Percy _means_," Blackadder said as he stuck his knife into the table dangerously close to Percy's hand, "is now that I have paid the loan, all is well."

But Percy was not to be deterred. "All is well, now, but it took a great deal of sacrifice on the parts of some of us in order to get that money back."

Edmund Blackadder, favorite to the Queen, sighed at the ineffectiveness of his last warning. Percy was on a roll, and nothing short of cutting out his tongue would shut him up. He almost reached behind his back and loosened the main gauche in its sheath.

"Tell me everything," the Queen commanded.

One did not dare disobey, and Percy suddenly realized he was in a bit deeper than he wanted to get. "Oh, well, you see, Lord Blackadder owed the Black Monks a thousand pounds, and neither his servant Baldrick nor I had the wherewithal to help him, so we tried several different things to get the money. And, er—" he glanced at Blackadder, who just shook his head.

"Don't look to me for help; it's your story, Percy."

"Um. Well, then he was called to Court and when he came back, he didn't have the money. This happened three different times, and the last time was right after he had sold one of his houses for eleven hundred pounds to get the money. And the Bishop of Bath and Wells certainly would have killed him, except that his final scheme worked."

"Do you mean to say, Blackadder, that every time we took your money, we were taking the last bit you had in the world, that would have paid off the Black Monks and purchased your life?" Melchett was sincerely astounded.

"Even so."

"Oh, Blackadder, we are truly sorry this time." The frothy dessert was suddenly inconsequential.

"Yes, madam. And will you be requiring the contents of my purse again?"

"You shouldn't upbraid the Queen so, Blackadder." Melchett was almost gentle. "You're getting a serious apology from her. Indeed, if I had known things were so bad for you, I would never have suggested we play those tricks on you."

"Yes, Blackadder." The Queen in one of her truly repentant moments was a lovely thing to behold. "I am very sorry my jokes have endangered your life."

"If I could only hope they were all jokes, madam." Blackadder still stung over the troubles he had been put through, and wasn't about to be bought so cheaply. On top of that, there was the "joke" she had told him about marrying Dudley.

"They were all jokes," she said.

"All of them, madam, not just the ones about money?"

Then it was that she caught on. "Yes, Edmund, all of them, especially the first one." She held out her hand to him. "I will never joke with you that way again, I promise."

As he bowed his head over her hand, Blackadder began to think for the first time in months that there might just be hope for him, after all.

Late that night Edmund Blackadder and Percy Percy sat before the fire in the main room of his house in Drury Lane. Baldrick came in carrying a tray with three goblets on it and served Blackadder and Percy, then took the last goblet off the tray after he set it on the table.

"What I don't understand, Percy, is why she won't bestow property and positions on me as she has Dudley." Blackadder was tired but not ready for sleep yet. He had too much on his mind.

"It is most unfair," Percy said as he put his feet up. "Dudley really doesn't deserve any of it."

Baldrick sat down on a stool near the fire and looked up at his master. "Perhaps it's because she no longer has any left, my lord."

"She's the Queen; she has plenty of castles, plenty of land, and plenty of titles to be conferred. She could create titles if she really wanted to."

"Well, but maybe it's because she wants you to love her and not all the things she could give you."

"Yes, Percy, I think it's time you went home." Blackadder did not rise as Percy got his cloak and was seen out by Baldrick.

"Your birthday's fast approaching," Baldrick said as he turned the key in the lock and barred the door. "Have you got anything special planned?"

"I think I'll just spend a quiet night at home, Baldrick. There are some things I need to think about."

"So you're not going to have Lord Percy over and get pissed?"

"My birthday has never had any special significance before this, why should I think it important now?" He did not regret his snappish reply.

"I'll just be off to bed, then, my lord." Baldrick brought a candlestick to the table next to Blackadder's chair and left the room.

Blackadder looked back at the fire. Something was beginning to happen inside him. Or maybe it had happened already. Whatever the case, he knew he had to have it sorted out before he would be able to sleep. Percy, as dim as he was, could sometimes cut through all the layers of politeness and pretense and get right to the point. None of them ever had used the word 'love' before to describe Blackadder's relationship with the Queen and their feelings for each other. He and the Queen had never spoken the word in private conversation.

He'd never touched her except to to hold her hand longer than was necessary when he nibbled her fingers those few times. He'd spent long hours watching her, listening to her voice, admiring her mind which was sharper than those of many men he knew. Things definitely had changed in seven years. When he'd first come to Court, his only goal had been to get as close to the throne as possible. He'd had some fuzzy idea of getting the Queen to marry him, and then offing her and taking the throne in her place.

He thought the long sea voyage must have been the turning point, where his affection for the woman who ruled England had grown from mere infatuation to something approaching strong desire. Conversely, his lust for the throne had diminished to an occasional lurch of ambition.

"Oh, God, what's happening to me?" he asked aloud. "I think I'm getting soft in the head."

**Saturday, 5th January, 1566 (Edmund's POV)**

To make up for not having a party on my birthday, which fell on a Sunday this year, I invited Percy over to break his fast with me on Saturday. Baldrick had baked on Friday and the bread was still fresh. He was wont to wait until the bread began to get stale before cutting and toasting it, but this morning Percy desired toast. The thick slices were hot, crisp on the outside, and nutty-tasting. We smeared them with butter and ate them with slices of smoked ham.

"I must say, Edmund, it was jolly nice of you to ask me to share your breakfast before the rigours of the day begin."

I couldn't help setting up Percy. "It is said, Percy, that civilised man seeks out good and intelligent company so that through learned discourse he may rise above the savage, and closer to God."

Of course he was delighted to think I meant him. "Yes, I'd heard that."

And I loved to knock him down. "Personally, however, I like to start my day off with a total dick-head to remind me I'm best."

A voice outside announced mail and I got up to get it. When I came back, Percy was using words like 'beshrew' and 'tush'. Why any man would want to be 'beshrewed' has always been beyond me, although I suppose there are enough masochists in the world.

The letter was from my aunt and uncle Whiteadder, telling me they were coming to dinner—tonight!—to 'discuss my inheritance'. Now to be fair I must explain my aunt and uncle, the Lord and Lady Whiteadder. How they had come to be attached to me I do not recall; I had taken my name from my nom de guerre over sixty years ago, and theirs was a legitimate family name. Be that as it may, I had somehow inextricably become a part of their family—and stood to inherit a good amount of cash, as they had no children. They were also fanatical puritans. Just as there are fanatics in every other branch of Christendom, there were fanatics amongst the puritans, and my aunt and uncle were two of the worst sort. They ate no meat, drank no ale, and never smiled. To what purpose, I never knew.

But they were coming tonight! I ordered Baldrick to prepare some turnips and there was a knock at the door. Which Baldrick took of the hinges and brought to me. Did I say earlier that Baldrick was always going through doors without opening them first? He was also responsible for tearing my doors out of the frame more than once. And all of that just for me to learn that Melchett was dying. We set out immediately.

The minute I entered the Privy Chamber, where they had laid him out, I could see what the trouble was. He was bloated, gassy, and had a sick headache: he was hung over. Now, Melchett and I in six years had come from out and out hostility and wishing the other dead—and occasionally trying to have that arranged—through a reluctant truce to a quiet and solid friendship. My relief at seeing he was not dying was such that I immediately began to goad him.

"The truth is," I said happily, "Lord Melchett just can't take his ale."

He rose on one elbow. "Madam, I protest! I may be a little delicate this morning, but what I drank last night would have floored a rhinoceros!"

"If it was allergic to lemonade," I retorted.

"It's Blackadder here who can't take his ale. He's famous for it."

In all humor there is a kernel of truth, and this one hit home. I could drink one tankard of ale, slowly, and not get drunk. If I had eaten first.

"Yeah?" I came back at him, for I couldn't really deny he was right.

"Yeah."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

We could have gone on like that all morning, except that the Queen took it upon herself to get involved.

"Oh, Nursie, isn't it exciting, the boys are getting tough!"

And then Melchett brought up one of my more humiliating moments. "I'm sure we all remember the shame and embarrassment of the visit of the King of Austria when Blackadder was found wandering naked among the corridors of Hampton Court singing 'I'm Merlin the Happy Pig'."

I ignored that and we went back and forth until I said to him, "You want to come round sometime, have a look at the underside of _my_ table." Never throw out a challenge, even a good-natured joking one, in front of a strong-willed woman. She will call your bluff every time, and then what is there to do but follow through?

"Tonight!" the Queen said. It was a command given by a woman who might just have grown tired of hearing two grown men bait each other like small children.

Melchett, still very hung over, was astounded. "Tonight?"

And I, not yet comprehending what this truly entailed, gloated as much as I could. "Come on, Melchy," I said, using the Queen's pet name for him. "What are you scared of?"

"Perhaps you're right." She was entering into the spirit of the thing now. "Perhaps he's a wet and a weed."

Well, the upshot of it all was that Melchett agreed to come, and then the Queen said whoever got drunk or passed out first had to pay the other one ten thousand florins. I don't know how much that would be now, but at the time it was a great deal more than I happened to have lying around. I was shocked. I had no choice now but to carry through with my threat, and win the wager. And Melchett was right, I couldn't take my ale.

That afternoon, Percy and I set about figuring whom to invite to the drinking party. I wanted the worst drunks I could think of. If they all got drunk, and distracted Melchett, I might just have a chance. I picked three of the grossest, most disgusting examples of humanity I could think of—Simon Partridge, Sir Geoffrey Piddle, and Freddie Frobisher.

"Right," I said, pretty satisfied with my plan. "That should do the trick."

"Oh, and of course, Lord and Lady Whiteadder, who will be coming anyway," Percy finished.

"Oh, yes . . ." Then it dawned on me that I had a frightful mess on my hands. "Oh, no."

I went to the Queen and tried to move the party to another night. No amount of explaining about the Whiteadder inheritance would satisfy her.

"I know why you want to get out of it," she said after commanding the batty Nursie to shut up. "I remember the last time you had a party, I found you face down in a puddle wearing a pointy hat and singing a song about goblins."

She did? I didn't invite her to my party; she was the Queen of England! How had she found me? Where had she found me? And why hadn't Baldrick told me of this? Now I was getting angry.

I rose from where I had been kneeling before her and snapped. It is a testament to her patience and affection that she did not have me beheaded, although she let me know what she thought.

"Oh, Edmund, I do love it when you get cross. Sometimes I think about having you executed just to see the expression on your face."

I don't want to go through the details of what it was like having a drunken party in Baldrick's room and a puritan dinner in the main room of my house. Suffice it to say that before long I was hot, tired, and under a great deal of pressure to keep the two parties separate. I ran back and forth between the two rooms, trying to placate my incredible aunt and uncle and trying to keep of the façade of a drinking man who could hold his liquor. In the midst of all this, a woman showed up at the door whom I assumed was Percy's latest girl, Gwendolyn. I shoved her into the hall closet to keep her out of the way and kept going. I'd told him not to invite her and he'd gone ahead and done so anyway; she'd keep. I was throwing ale into the hall closet, out the windows, and down the privy, doing everything I could think of to avoid drinking it. Finally Melchett, who had shown up fashionably late wearing a pair of gold-plated party breasts, called me on it.

"Blackadder, you challenged me to a drinking competition earlier today and I haven't seen you touch a drop."

"Nonsense," I answered. I really was too hot and too tired to think of anything more intelligent.

" 'Tis true," he said. "You twist and turn like a . . . twisty turny thing. I say you are a weedy pigeon and you can call me Susan if it isn't so."

So I called Baldrick to bring my 'incredibly strong ale'. It was water. It was supposed to be in a tankard already, so I could toss it off all at once. No, he had to bring it in a pitcher and pour it into one of my clear glasses that had come from China.

Of course my glass of water was taken away and I was given a large tankard of ale, and of course they all expected me to drink it straight down. That tankard was about thirty ounces. If I demurred, I would not only lose the challenge by default, I would never hear the end of it. If I drank it, well, who knew? Perhaps I might still manage to stay upright longer than Melchett. So I drank it down.

It took forty-two seconds. In forty-three seconds I was drunk. In my defense, though, I must remind you that I had had nothing to eat and was hot and tired, as I have mentioned. Somehow I ended up drunk in front of my aunt and uncle. It was all a bit of a haze at the time, and you can believe me when I tell you it has only gotten hazier over the centuries. Queenie (for it was she in the hall closet I'd been throwing ale and cider into) made her presence known and then—if I remember correctly—entered our drinking contest. I do remember her saying that though she might have the body of a weak and feeble woman, she had the heart and stomach of a concrete elephant. And then she set about proving it. For any woman, let alone Elizabeth, by the grace of God Queen of England and Ireland etc., to do such a thing was unheard of. But the woman had an iron will if nothing else, and drank us all under the table. Yes, all of us, for the Lord and Lady Whiteadder would never disobey a command of their queen.

The upshot of the entire affair was that I received a sizable inheritance from my aunt and uncle. My uncle had regained his tongue and assured me as they left their dinner that they hadn't had that much fun since they were born.

We partied and recovered from said parties, and recipes for hangover cures were quite popular until Elizabeth moved her court to Greenwich. Meanwhile, more serious goings-on were taking place north in Scotland. In March, the news reached us that Mary of Scotland's secretary had been murdered right in front of her while they were eating supper.

The murderers broke into her chamber, held her at gunpoint, dragged David Rizzio from her, stabbed him more than fifty times, then threw him down a flight of stairs, stripped him, and took all his jewelry. Speculation ran hot and heavy about who just who was involved, how deep the plot went, to what purpose his murder had been accomplished, and what would happen to Mary, now in her seventh month of pregnancy. The prime suspect was her husband Lord Darnley, and with good reason.

She had been married to Henry Stuart Lord Darnley for less than a year, and in that short time he had well established a reputation for drunkenness and whoring. He was also jealous of David Rizzio who, it was rumored, wangled his way into Mary's graces via his bass singing voice and mastery of the violin, was, toward the end of 1564, made her secretary for relations with France. Elizabeth had not approved of Mary's marriage to Darnley, and the reasons were soon made manifest. As of the date of Rizzio's murder, Mary had not yet asked Parliament to grant Darnley the crown matrimonial—though he had demanded it—as it would have made him her equal in power as well as title. He was an embarrassment to Mary and to the Lords with his refusal to take part in matters of state, his drunkenness and whoring.

We were entertained almost to the point of numbness, however, and even I, as close as I was to Elizabeth, heard little of what was transpiring in the north until later.

Be that as it may, Darnley's drunkenness and debauchery increased (if such were possible) and he came to openly defy Mary to those who would listen. Rumor even had it he was writing to the Pope complaining about how slowly she was restoring Catholicism to Scotland. Not as if his own adherence to Rome was anything to speak of; it most certainly was not. Darnley epitomized the term "hypocrite". Of course, Darnley himself along with a hapless page were blown up later, in February of '67. It was suspected Mary had the job done, for she never forgave Darnley for the murder of Rizzio.

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**Found the last bit and have tacked it onto the end here where it belonged. Thanks for being patient! Thanks also to Guest, Pliffy, and PurpleTaz for the reviews—I appreciate your comments more than you know.**

**I find it quite sad that the Puritans are often so stereotyped they end up being portrayed as mockeries of themselves. Fact is, most Puritans enjoyed a good ale, liked to wear colorful clothing (just not to worship), and enjoyed doing the things one must do to make a lot of children. The main gauche was a dagger worn at the back so as to be drawn by one's left hand. A trained swordsman with s****word in right hand and dagger in left was a force to be reckoned with.**

**Thanks for reading—and if you would, please review. Constructive criticism is most welcome!**


	12. Chapter 12

**In which another visit is made to Apethorpe, the Queen has a question, and Edmund does not have a good time.**

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**Early July into August, 1566**

Summer that year was rather cool; the winds from St. George's Channel blew across Wales and chilled the Midlands. Once again Lord Walter Mildmay invited the Queen to visit Apethorpe as she made her summer progression; once again Blackadder rather than Dudley was asked to join her retinue; once again Baldrick was included as Blackadder's attendant. The road was in considerable need of repair. As they bounced along in the second carriage, Melchett protested mildly to Blackadder that he thought it was surely a hardship on her Majesty.

"Really, couldn't Mildmay have waited until we were farther north?" Melchett shifted uncomfortably on his seat.

"Ah, you're just getting soft in your elder age," Blackadder answered.

"Hah! As truth would have it, I have always been soft. I just feel it more now."

There was a small snort of laughter from Baldrick, but Melchett's man maintained a straight face. Not much joy there, Blackadder thought. But then, the man was newly in Melchett's service; perhaps he had not yet learned that, as Melchett was fond of saying, laughter doeth good as a medicine.

They rode on in companionable silence until the first stop for water and a light meal. The breeze coming from the southwest was brisk and they elected to eat in the relative shelter of their carriages rather than on cloths spread on the ground, which would hardly have been pleasurable.

"By the by," Melchett intoned around a bite of cold beef, "I understand the Queen has a question she wishes to ask of you, Blackadder."

"Indeed?" Blackadder wondered what the question might be. "Why didn't she just ask me instead of telling you?" The ways of women were a mystery to Blackadder, but the ways of this particular woman belonged to an order of mystery far beyond his comprehension.

"I believe she is waiting for the right moment," Melchett responded sagely.

Blackadder grunted and looked out the window at the countryside moving past, catching a glimpse of one of the outriders through the trees. They had a more demanding job this trip, as the caravan was sufficiently longer, including several Lords and Ladies and their servants as well. He couldn't begin to remember all their names. Frankly, he didn't care who they were. They could all circle the Queen as much as they liked, so long as he remained her favorite.

He was pleased to see Sir Walter and his wife waiting for them as the carriages pulled into the circular drive. What he had seen and heard of the man at their first visit and in the time since had helped him to form the opinion that Mildmay was a genuinely good man. He hoped to further his acquaintance with Sir Walter, but was slightly confused how that might come about. Strictly speaking, he had been asked to accompany the Queen as her acting Master of Horse. Not so strictly speaking, he was the Queen's favorite and enjoyed certain privileges others of his rank did not. And not speaking at all, he was the Queen's man—her property, if one took seriously her acceptance of his person as a gift six years ago. Still, perhaps Mildmay would speak to him man to man without regard for rank.

Baldrick unpacked for him, placing his other set of black hose, doublet, and scarlet shirt inside the wardrobe. After he had got a fire going to take the chill out of the room, he retired to the servant's quarters, leaving Blackadder to leaf through the pages of an old manuscript by the flickering light of several candles.

**(Blackadder's POV)**

Supper the following night was a sumptuous affair. There were five courses, and I remember a haunch of venison which had been roasted on a spit, along with hares in gravy, breasts of doves gently turned in butter, trouts baked in cream, pastries of various shapes with meat or dried fruit filling, slabs of cheese and freshly baked light bread, a haunch of veal, tiny crabs cooked in water from the ocean, cups of soup made of seasoned pork and cloves, and finally some spiced wines and ale.

As was custom, the Queen, her closest advisor, her favorite, and the Mildmays as guests supped in a separate room while the rest of the courtiers, lords and ladies, supped in the main hall. With us in the chamber were Baldrick, Melchett's new man, and Nursie. Baldrick stood behind my chair, Nursie sat rather at the foot of the table, and Melchett's new man—whose name I never did catch—stood to one side of Melchett and had an odd habit of serving not only Melchett but others as well.

"I believe, Majesty, I heard something about a question you wanted to ask me."

Elizabeth feigned irritation. "Edmund! What poor manners. Lord and Lady Mildmay will think you are quite rude." She turned to Mary Mildmay and complemented her on the hares in gravy, then turned back to me and smiled brightly. "I'll ask you the question a little later, Edmund." The subject was closed, but my curiousity had my mind speculating in a thousand different directions. Did it have to do with money? Or perhaps land? Or—oh, who knew. Knowing her, it could be anything from information on my "monkey" to wanting to know why I didn't wear clothes in any other color than black and red. Although the second would have been easier to answer than the first. It was quite simple. I had no money for another suit of clothes.

Baldrick leaned over from time to time and made comments only I could hear. I hoped. Elizabeth's hearing was really quite keen, and if she did hear our occasional exchanges, she let no indication cross her face.

"Have you seen that man of Melchett's before?"

"Um—" I swallowed a bite of roast venison. "Nope. Can't say I have."

"I'm not sure I like him, my lord."

"Yes, he probably doesn't like you, either. Have you eaten? You should go to the servant's hall and get a plate."

"No." A pause. "I think I'll stay here."

There was on the table a dish of peaches simmered in wine and cinnamon, liberally sprinkled with pomegranate seeds, that I wanted to try.

"Baldrick, could you get me the peaches?"

Before Baldrick could move, Melchett's man picked up the bowl and leaned over the table toward me. Before I could reach out for the bowl, Baldrick quickly snatched at it and the collision of their hands tipped the bowl into my plate and sent peaches cascading across my chest and into my lap.

I stood, dripping peaches, angry at Baldrick and embarrassed for myself and the Queen, but maintained my composure.

"It's all right, I was in need of a change anyway." I turned to Elizabeth, who was doing her best not to laugh. "If you'll excuse me, majesty."

"Yes, Edmund, go and change. You'll be icky and sticky if you don't. When you come back, we'll have wine."

"Really, Baldrick, you couldn't have been any clumsier, could you?" I wet a cloth in the bowl of water in my room and wiped peach juices off my hands while he pulled my other set of clothes from the wardrobe.

"I'm sorry, my lord. It looked like he put something into the peaches as he was handing them to you."

"Like what, Baldrick? A buxom young woman, perhaps? A bag of gold? I could use both about now, actually." I threw down my soiled doublet and shirt and stood shivering in my breeches and hose. "You really are an idiot." What I really said was something like, "Thou art truly a mammering, iron-witted fool", but either way it was cruel and undeserved. I stripped the rest of the way and washed my legs where the peach juices had soaked through my hose. Baldrick was quiet as he helped me dress—clean linen underclothes, a new shirt and sleeves with points neatly tied, hose, understated codpiece with belt, breeches, a small ruff, doublet with slashes that he carefully pulled the fabric of the shirt sleeves through, and my boots which would have to do until my indoor shoes could be washed and dried.

By the time I returned to the chamber, the mess had been cleaned up and a new plate and cup were at my place. Suppers then were not the hurried affairs of today. If it were a feast, we might eat on and off all day. A special supper in honor of the Queen lasted several hours at least. This was a good thing; the table was still covered with food at my return. I cut another slice of venison and took a trout, and joined in the friendly banter. Baldrick stood silently behind me the entire time.

The following day, Elizabeth hunted with Sir Walter, and I as her acting Master of Horse had to make sure her mount was saddled and bridled correctly and that he was not likely to throw a shoe. I rode behind her in case her horse misstepped or was otherwise injured. The game this day was a stag. Sir Walter's huntsman, a fellow named William, led the hunt and handled the hounds. After several hours, a stag was caught by the dogs and his escape cut off, so that he had nowhere to turn but must fight the dogs with razor-sharp hooves and his antlers. Bolts from several bows flew and soon the stag was down; the dogs called away, and a final shot made sure the stag was dead.

William blew the mort and we dismounted and approached cautiously; wounded deer could kill a man quite easily. But the animal had breathed its last, and William, still kneeling next to it, drew his knife and handed it hilt first to Elizabeth, who, leaning over, stabbed the stag as if she herself were killing it. "This stag shall go to the few poor around Apethorpe," she said, handing the bloodied knife back to the huntsman. "We had our feast yesterday, let them feast on the morrow."

Elizabeth loved to hunt, and now I was hunting for Elizabeth, but I was distracted. My curiosity had been piqued to the utmost, and I was looking for her to ask her what the question was. Why couldn't she simply have asked me days ago? But that was her way, to tease and sometimes even to seem to bully, though only when warranted. It had been six years since our last visit to Apethorpe, and in that time Sir Walter had made a few improvements, so that now I was as lost as I had been the first time I'd ranged these corridors and halls. She wasn't in her rooms.

Perhaps she was with Melchett? I walked boldly into his chamber, a greeting ready on my lips, but neither of them were there. Of course, I had to inspect the room—I was no less curious then than in my youth. In doing so I happened to see two parchments, one new and the other clearly written over and wrinkled, on Melchett's escritoire. The quill and a stoppered bottle of ink sat above the parchments. The new parchment was covered in Melchett's formal handwriting; the older, much-used one in Elizabeth's, but her script was spidery and not at all neat, as though it had been written in haste. Hands behind my back so as not to disturb anything, I leaned over the desk and began to read hers. I peered closely, read a few lines, and then straightened quickly. Shaking my head, I leaned over the other parchment which was written in Melchett's bold strokes.

"Was I not born in the realm? Were my parents born in any foreign country? Is not my kingdom here? Whom have I oppressed? Whom have I enriched to other's harm? What turmoil have I made in this commonwealth that I should be suspected to have no regard to the same? How have I governed since my reign? I will be tried by envy itself. I need not to use many words, for my deeds do try me.

'Well, the matter whereof they would have made their petition (as I am informed) consisteth in two points: in my marriage, and in the limitations of the succession of the crown, wherein my marriage was first placed, as for manners' sake. I did send them answer by my council, I would marry (although of mine own disposition I was not inclined thereunto) but that was not accepted nor credited, although spoken by their Prince.

'I will never break the word of a prince spoken in a public place, for my honour's sake. And therefore I say again, I will marry as soon as I can conveniently, if God take not him away with whom I mind to marry, or myself, or else some other great let happen. I can say no more except the party were present. And I hope to have children, otherwise I would never marry. A strange order of petitioners that will make a request and cannot be otherwise assured but by the prince's word, and yet will not believe it when it is spoken.

'The second point was for the limitation of the succession of the crown, wherein was nothing said for my safety, but only for themselves. A strange thing that the foot should direct the head in so weighty a cause—"

The writing stopped there. I could see why Melchett was re-writing her response to Parliament's query before it was sent back. It seemed he had been interrupted in the middle of his work. Perhaps that was a good thing. Perhaps Dudley would be overcome with the bloody flux before we returned to London. Meanwhile, I needed to find the Queen.

Baldrick caught me in the corridor. "Did you not get the summons, my lord?"

"If I had gotten a summons, Baldrick, I would be responding to it."

"Oh. All right. Are you responding to it?"

"I don't know. What is the summons?"

"The Queen is in the Little Chamber receiving visitors and your presence is requested."

I reversed my course and headed back the way I had come. "In that case yes, I am responding to the summons."

"I'll just be in my room, then," Baldrick called after me.

Again a request. But in my case it was a command, as I was the Queen's man. I believe I have remarked before that if she had commanded me to lay my neck upon the block, I would have had to do so.

Blackadder pulled his cloak tighter about himself as he rushed down the corridor of Apethorpe Hall to the Little Chamber. He had long since given up wondering why she wanted him with her at various times. At any time a messenger could come with Elizabeth's command to attend her; he listened as she received visits from heads of state, sat quietly while she answered correspondence, inspected the kitchens and laundry with her (that had been an enlightening experience), even stood by while she washed the feet of poor women on Maundy Thursday. No doubt today he would spend several hours standing with Melchett while Elizabeth patiently received her subjects and the gifts they might bring. He never stopped being amazed at the good grace with which she accepted the offerings people brought, especially at times like this, when she was not at one of her royal residences. The diverse items were inspected and then distributed amongst her servants or donated to the poor when they returned to Whitehall.

Upon entering the Little Chamber, he was pleased to note a roaring fire burning in the fireplace. The relative warmth was a welcome change from his own chilly room. Elizabeth was already seated in a richly carved high-back chair on the platform, backlit by the two windows to either side of her. He tread lightly on the parquet floor, glad he wasn't in boots and spurs, and knelt before her.

"Majesty."

"Edmund."

"Melchett." He nodded at her bear-like advisor.

"Blackadder."

"Stand next to Melchy, Edmund." He stepped up onto the platform and moved to Melchett's right. Nursie was already at Elizabeth's left, sewing as always on some unidentifiable garment. Leaning forward slightly, he tried to be surreptitious as he glanced at the folds of fabric in Nursie's hands.

"Petticoat, Edmund. Now do stand up straight."

He was surprised to feel the warmth of a blush. Was it one of _her_ petticoats he had just seen?

"Can't control it, can you?" Melchett whispered quietly.

"Don't know what you're talking about." Blackadder whispered back.

"Oh, yes, you do. Don't think I can't see it."

Blackadder rolled his eyes. " 'It' what?"

"Boys . . ." Elizabeth's voice cut into their back-and-forth. "Behave."

"I want to know what the question is," Blackadder murmured under his breath.

The double doors opened and a guard stood to either side while the first of the petitioners entered. As was his custom while in attendance, his mind wandered as he looked around the room. The tapestries on the walls were Flemish, and quite costly. Hangers-on who had journeyed north with the Queen lined the walls but avoided the tapestries, knowing full well their value. The one nearest the door opposite the platform was of some sort of mythical scene, women amongst trees gathering flowers and filling water jars. The colors were rich, particularly the blues and reds. A fellow resembling Melchett's man stood a little too near that one, and Blackadder imagined the fellow leaning on the tapestry, his weight pulling it from the wall, only to be completely covered by the heavy hanging.

"Come on, Blackie, pay attention!" Elizabeth's raised voice jerked Blackadder from his reverie. She was handing a parcel to Nursie, who noted it in a ledger before placing it on an ever-increasing pile of stuff.

"Say it's wonderful," whispered Melchett.

"And I heard _that_ as well, Melchy—if I can hear the grass grow, I can hear you two."

"Erm, yes. Sorry, madam." Blackadder did his best to look interested until the audience was over, then stretched surreptitiously as the last of the petitioners filed out of the room. His eye lit again upon the tapestry opposite the platform, and it seemed to his tired eyes as if the pool of water the maidens were drawing from was rippling. He shook his head and turned to Melchett, who was stretching his own back.

"Thank God that's over," he said. Something caught the corner of his eye and he turned again toward the far wall. And then he saw it, in spite of the darkening day and the dim light which might confuse anyone. A hand holding a pistol had come from behind the arras.

He had no time to warn Melchett, no time to say a word, but quickly leaped upon the startled Queen and covered her with his body.

Elizabeth was quite taken aback. One did not simply jump upon one's Sovereign. She inhaled deeply in preparation for yelling at Edmund to get off her, but never had the opportunity. A shot rang out, and she and Edmund both startled at the loud crack as though lightning had struck the center of the room with accompanying close thunder. Her favorite did not move, merely put his head down and said into her ear, "Don't move, Majesty."

She sat very still. Melchett was yelling, and she could hear the shouts of guards and their running footsteps. The commotion was huge, and she could see none of it until Edmund rested his head on her shoulder. She could feel his hair against her cheek and smell roses and citrus. She had never been so close to him except for one other time. It was when he'd had the birthday bash and invited his aunt and uncle. Everyone had too much to drink, including—if she were honest—the Queen of the realm. Edmund had not begun singing about the little pixies yet, and she could still remember leaning back against the wall and Edmund coming round the corner and finding himself face to face with her. His eyes had gone all soft and he'd leaned forward and kissed her. She'd kissed him right back, and Heaven knows where it might have gone from there if Melchett hadn't intervened and handed Edmund another pitcher of ale. After that, the singing _had_ begun in earnest.

And now here he was, actually getting rather heavy. The guards came in to report the man who fired the shot had gotten away in the confusion and all they had found was his pistola. She looked over Blackadder's shoulder at them and tried to push him off.

"Ned!"

Then Melchett was lifting Edmund off her. She sat up as Melchett lowered him to the floor, where he lie working for air. Melchett leaned over Blackadder and called his name. Edmund reached up and his hand hit Melchett's shoulder. As he grabbed a fistful of robe and pulled Melchettt closer, Melchett noticed his eyes weren't really focussed on anything. Melchett had lived a very narrow life, having been in or very near the church most of his years, but he could see Blackadder was possibly dying.

Elizabeth stood and took in the scene: Melchett being pulled close by Edmund, who coughed wetly and then swallowed blood. It slowly entered her mind that he had been shot, that he had taken the ball meant for her. Suddenly all the sound and light in the room came to a point and with a snap she began shouting.

"Where is a runner?" Lords and ladies, all backed away against the walls, stood looking at each other like dumb sheep. "You!" She pointed at one of the guards who had brought her the pistola. "Fetch Marbeck immediately!" The guard tore out of the room. Sir Walter, who had left earlier, came back and approached sad-faced to stand to one side.

Melchett saw Blackadder's eyes focus on his. Blackadder licked his lips. "Queen," he whispered.

"Yes, she's here," Melchett said quietly.

"Safe?"

"Very much so. You've saved her life, Blackadder."

Blackadder managed a smile and a faint "Ah." His hand dropped from Melchett's shoulder and his head lolled to one side. He coughed again, flecking the inlaid floor with blood as his eyes began to roll back in his head.

Melchett felt sadder than ever. He lifted his eyes to the Queen. "Madam, I fear—"

"Shut it, Melchy! I won't hear it!"

At that moment, Marbeck entered carrying a large leather bag. He strode directly to Blackadder and knelt beside him, addressing the Queen briefly as he did so.

"Majesty. Melchett, you're going to help me."

"Oh, but I—"

"You told me once you consider Blackadder your friend, did you not?"

"Well, yes, but I—"

"Don't worry, Melchett, I'm not going to ask you to do surgery. Help me roll him over."

The two men settled Blackadder on his stomach ad Melchett began to feel ill at the sight of all the blood.

"Remove your outer robes and cover his legs. A big fellow like you afraid of blood? Don't look, then."

The physician reached into the satchel he'd brought and pulled out, to everyone's surprise, a pair of scissors. "Majesty, I'll need your cushion. Yours too, Mistress Ashley." He quickly cut Blackadder's doublet and red silk shirt from waist to shoulder on both sides.

"Melchett, I'm going to lift Lord Blackadder, if you would be so kind as to place the cushions under his chest and head. Thank you."

Carefully Melchett did as he was told, then looked back to see Marbeck pull up the fabric of the doublet and shirt to reveal the wound. Thick blood oozed from the damaged flesh as the physician deftly cut the blood-soaked fabrics off at Blackadder's shoulders.

Melchett couldn't tear his eyes away from the blood and what the physician was doing. Far from feeling faint as he initially did, he swallowed and leaned forward.

"Um, anything else I can do?"

"Yes . . . I need linen cloths boiled in water, please, Nursie. Also a clean board, two or three onions from the kitchen—make certain they have no mold—and a very sharp knife."

As he helped Marbeck tend to Blackadder, Melchett was vaguely aware of Elizabeth commanding the Gentleman Usher and the other ushers to dismiss the Court. Soon the large room was still. Besides themselves, Elizabeth and Nursie were the only others to witness what happened. While Marbeck worked, he kept up a quiet stream of explanation, Melchett suspected to help calm him and the women.

"Giovanni da Vigo. Ever hear of him? He was surgeon to Pope Julius the Second, and he said wounds of this sort should be treated by cauterizing with hot oil. Now Paré, under whom I trained, said the same thing but to first remove the ball and then clean the wound with a paste of pounded raw onion."

Marbeck reached into his bag again and pulled out a very small set of tongs and set about digging into the wound in Blackadder's back. For what seemed to be much too long, the searching continued until the physician grunted with satisfaction and slowly pulled out the tongs, bringing with them the ball that had been fired from the pistola. Melchett stared; the ball looked easily to be as big around as his forefinger at the tip.

"I, however, disagree with da Vigo and my old teacher. I prefer to first clean the wound, then . . . ah, here is Mistress Ashley with what I need now." Marbeck quickly skinned the onions and then set about chopping them very finely on the board. With the tongs he pulled one of the clothes out of the kettle and shook the excess water out of it. He laid it on the board and put half the onion into it, then into a small bowl from his bag—Melchett wondered what else might be found in that capacious satchel—Marbeck squeezed all the juice he could get out of that portion of chopped onion. He pulled a mortal and pestle from his bag and handed them to Nursie.

"If you would be so kind as to grind the rest of the onion into a paste?"

"Now . . ." Melchett had to look away finally as Marbeck began to pull bits of shattered bone and destroyed flesh from the wound. A few minutes later, Marbeck: "I will need your help here, Melchett." He handed Melchett a pair of very small pincers. "When I tell you to grab the vessel, take hold carefully." The blood vessels were slippery and Melchett found himself cursing when he lost one Marbeck had just pulled out of the wound for him. It slithered back into the bloody mess and the physician had to fish for it all over again.

But the process of tying off the ends of the blood vessels was over sooner than Melchett thought it would be, and soon Marbeck was spooning onion paste into the wound. He folded another piece of boiled linen into a small square, soaked it in the onion juice, and covered the wound with it. He did this several times, then used the last of the linen to tie the pads in place.

"And now, Melchett, if you would help me carry Blackadder to my rooms? I can watch him there."

When Melchett returned to the Little Chamber, both Elizabeth and Nursie were gone. He stood in the middle of the empty room and turned in a circle. He'd never been in it when it was empty. Always there's been somebody here, something happening. He heard footsteps and turned to see a woman, one of the many without whom Apethorpe would cease to run smoothly. Pail of water in one hand and brush in the other, she walked up in front of the platform and went to work on her hands and knees, scrubbing the already drying blood off the floor.

* * *

**Here I must be honest and admit Elizabeth only visited Sir Walter at Apethorpe once, and that in 1566, which makes the first visit I wrote about absolutely fictitious. She did love to hunt, and the sparse details I've included are fairly accurate. To blow the mort is to make a call on the huntsman's horn signifying the game hunted is dead.  
**

**Elizabeth really did write a very angry letter to Parliament when they nagged her yet again in 1566 to name an heir to the throne, and the bit I've included here is the rewrite as done by her advisor, William Cecil.**

**She really did, on Maundy Thursday of each year, wash the feet of as many poor women as years she had lived, and then gave them each a bag of coins (as many as she was years old), and various presents.**

**Giovanni da Vigo (1450 - 1525) and Ambroise Paré (1510 - 1590) were both real physicians and were both pioneers for their time in the treatment of gunshot wounds. I should probably mention that Roger Marbeck (1536 - 1604) was also really Elizabeth's personal physician.**

* * *

**This is sort of a cliffhanger, but if you've been paying attention, you already know the outcome and why. **

**When I originally wrote this, I fell asleep while writing and penned, "(Marbeck) came in with a rather large bagel." Actually, he did not—it wasn't even breakfast time! That made absolutely no sense at all, unless one can posit large bagels as a valid treatment for gunshot wounds. ****:-)**

**Thanks so much for reading. 3 ****And p****lease leave a review.**


	13. Chapter 13

**You'll remember Edmund had taken a shot believed to be for the Queen . . . **

**The usual disclaimer: ****I do not own history, though I have taken a great many liberties with it.**** I do not own Blackadder or any other characters in the Blackadder mythos. Please don't sue me, Blackadder people—I'm just having fun here.**

**In which gossip flies, Lords Melchett and Blackadder are kidnaped for ransom, Sir Mildmay is surprised, and there is a party. Of sorts.  
**

* * *

Speculation flew faster than bats at dusk; who had tried to kill the Queen, and why? Was it some Catholic faction angry with her for her stance on religion? Was it some Scottish faction sent by Mary? Was it a relative hopeful to ascend the throne if Elizabeth was out of the way? Some crazed anti-royalist? Theories were as numerous as bristles on a boar, and as difficult to deal with.

Elizabeth herself was a bit quieter than normal, more thoughtful if that were possible. It is quite probable not even her favorite advisor, Melchett, or her faithful Nursie, knew what was going on in her head. Dudley had pressured her for years to marry him, but he was a married man—until Amy died (or was killed), and he was really out of the question. Obviously she could not marry a married man, and after Amy died (or was killed) to marry him would put the Queen's reputation especially to the test. Distrust would grow like Baldrick's ear hairs. If she wanted the best for England, who needed a strong and trusted ruler, she could not even think of marrying Dudley. Although, she had to admit, flirting with him had been _so_ much fun!

She'd prorogued Parliament again when they told her they were cutting off her funds if she did not name an heir to the throne. _That _had shown them! They came back, hats in hand, and begged her forgiveness. Still, she had known it was only a matter of time before they came back at her about it, and they had.

Nursie had found her throwing things and yelling at no one in particular the day she'd gotten the letter, brought all the way to Apethorpe by courier from Parliament.

"What's wrong, my pet?"

"OOH! It's Parliament again and they want me to name an heir to the throne. Are they stupid? Yes, they are. They think I'm stupid, and that's very stupid of them! As if I can't see that the minute I name an heir to the throne, a man of course, it will be so easy for them to get me off the throne somehow and put a 'real' ruler on the throne. As if I, being a woman, am not fit to rule my country! And I am, you know—I've done a very good job so far."

"Of course you have, my dear." Nursie bent to pick up a silver plate that had landed amongst the cushions on a rather large settee.

"Well, I'm going to send them an answer they won't forget!" And she had opened the writing desk and pulled out parchment and ink. Melchett was working on her reply now, toning it down without losing any of her intent.

There had been other suitors, of course, and dozens of requests for marriage, some of them more than once by the same suitor. You'd think, she mused, they'd have gotten the message the first time. But one . . . she'd been considering more and more the past year . . . one courtier served her faithfully, had a quick wit, was knowledgable about affairs of state, and seemed to have a level head on him. It was Edmund, of course. And since he was only a Lord, and a minor one at that, those who opined her ineffective because of her womanhood might think twice about getting rid of her to place him on the throne. Nor was Blackadder one to be easily manipulated; they would hesitate for that reason as well.

And there were other, more personal reasons why she had been considering him. He rode well, sang, was an excellent swordsman, could be quite funny when he wanted to, and looked great in short breeches and long stockings. She had planned to ask him tonight, at supper, but now he was lying close to death in Marbeck's quarters. No more putting it off, she told herself firmly. As soon as he was well enough and back at Court, she'd ask him.

Several weeks later, a thinner and even paler Blackadder was loaded into a carriage with Baldrick and taken to Richmond, where the Queen had returned after her visit to Apethorpe. He was in olive green satin with bronze silk peeking through the slashes of his doublet, a gift from Sir Walter. He had had considerable opportunity to speak with Sir Walter after Elizabeth's departure and the two had become, Blackadder liked to think, rather good friends.

His recovery had gone much faster than Marbeck expected. The physician seemed pleasantly surprised that his efforts had done as well for Blackadder as they had. Edmund was simply thankful Mother's gift was still working. The driver was taking it slow to avoid jarring him, and Baldrick was solicitous of his every wince and groan as they covered the mud-rutted road. He felt decidedly lazy, lolling about on pillows in the carriage as they traveled back in the warm sunshine. He wasn't quite as weak as he appeared, but wasn't about to let on how well he did feel. Being shot in the back did not generally result in being able to be up and walking around so quickly. No need to arouse suspicions, lest a charge of witchcraft be leveled against him. Even in this modern day and age, one had to be careful.

"We must find some way to celebrate Lord Blackadder's return to us," Elizabeth said. Nursie, who had been with her since she was a tot, and Melchett, her most trusted advisor who had been with her since her Tower days, both agreed.

"Yes, madam, no doubt. What do you think would be appropriate?"

"I always like cake, myself," said Nursie.

"Yes, but we're not celebrating you, we're celebrating Blackadder."

"In that case, Majesty, might I suggest a bowl of toast with milk over it?" Melchett offered.

"Oh, Melchy, how can you be so awful, especially when you know he risked his life for me? I know—a party!"

Just then the subject of conversation arrived and walked up to the Queen's throne, bowing.

"Madam, I trust you are well."

"Absolutely! Nursie and Melchett and I are just spiffing, aren't we?"

"I don't know if I can make the party—I have this pain in my leg . . ." Nursie began.

"I said, _aren't we_?" Elizabeth pinched Nursie's leg through her gown.

"Oh, my leg! Yes, we are! Spiffing!"

Blackadder and Melchett exchanged glances, Melchett careful to just shrug in Nursie's direction, as if it was only more of her madness.

"And how are you doing, Blackadder?" he inquired.

"Well, I had quite the adventure last night, let me tell you."

"Yes, do tell us," Elizabeth said.

Blackadder coughed into his hand. "I'm not sure this is suitable for—" he glanced at Nursie "—two such, er, ladies as yourselves."

"Oh, go on, Edmund, tell your tale. We all know you were with Dr. Marbeck last night."

So Blackadder proceeded to tell a story that would have them laughing and distract them from his discomfort and lingering pain, for he was still recovering from the wound he had received at Apethorpe. It was a variation of a tale he had told often before to impress and to entertain, and it certainly had that effect this time, even though Melchett had already heard it himself.

He came to the end, then drew as long a breath as he could with the bandages still around his ribs, and began yelling. Not as loudly as he had yelled in the past, true, but pretty loudly just the same.

"Get out, get out, libidinous swine, and take that whore slut painted strumpet with you! May you both rot in the filth of your own fornication!"

Melchett put on his amazed face, and the Queen stared wide-eyed.

"Mmm. And what did you say to him?"

Blackadder took another breath, then spoke slowly and coolly. "Say, madam? I said nothing. I simply pulled up my tights and jumped out the privy window."

"Ooh, Edmund, you are so naughty!" They all knew it wasn't a true story, but the Queen loved to imagine Edmund in such a position.

"Well, I try, madam, and then ten minutes later when I've got my breath back, I try again." His eyes met hers as she laughed and she felt that familiar thrill go through her. Tonight. She would ask him tonight.

Then Melchett had to get serious and petitioned the Queen to pay his nephew's ransom. Blackadder didn't sympathize one bit. People were always getting kidnapped and being ransomed; it was a major moneymaking concern. And as for himself, he was the Queen's favorite; nobody would dare to touch him. Unless, perhaps, they were megalomaniacal foreigners who had far more sinister reasons for doing so.

Blackadder didn't remember leaving the Privy Chamber. He didn't recall deliberately walking ahead of Baldrick and shutting the doors in his face so he wouldn't have to hear another one of Baldrick's inane stories. And he had no memory of being knocked unconscious and carried out of the palace by two men with strange accents.

**(Blackadder's POV)**

I awoke with a horrible headache, in a dungeon, tied to Melchett. He had been kidnapped as well, and we were unable to move, being tied back to back with good stout rope. A Spaniard came in and began speaking to Melchett; like a fool I insisted he talk to me. I didn't have a word of Spanish, and Melchett was fluent in the stuff. And because I made myself appear the more important—hoping I think to use my position to leverage my release—the Spaniard chose to torture me first.

I won't go into it except to say he spent a good long time insulting me and my antecedents just as a warmup. And before he really got started with his scythe, he was interrupted by my captor, Prince Ludwig. Which was good. He, too, insulted me. Which was bad, but not as bad as being gelded by a crazed Spaniard with a scythe. Finally I'd had enough and began to return his taunts.

"Oh, well, we are proud of our comic serving-wench voice, aren't we? Just because we can say 'zur' instead of 'sir'. Essential at all social gatherings, the tedious little turd who keeps putting on amusing voices."

"Be quiet!" he commanded.

Ah, I'd hit a nerve. "What else have you got in your astoundingly inventive repertoire, I wonder . . ." I had him, now. "I can't wait to see your side-splitting poof and your funny little croaky one who isn't anyone in particular, but is _such _a scream! And most of all, I like the one you do all the time, the fat-headed German chamber-pot standing in front of me!"

He was angry now, and angry men make mistakes. He brought in Melchett and informed us the Queen had written she would only pay one ransom. Melchett was nearly beside himself as he quietly explained to me the truth behind the letter he had been carrying when abducted. The kidnapper of his nephew wasn't going to get the ransom, and here we were with only one of us being ransomed. It wasn't right!

Ludwig would not make the choice himself and sent to her demanding she name the one he would free. It took a week for the reply to come. She answered his ransom demand by saying she would never again give in to the demands of a blackmailer, and was throwing a party rather than paying up. I loved Elizabeth, but I wanted very much to be free of the dungeon and certain death, and would have been happier if she'd paid the ransom. As we learned later, however, Ludwig had far more diabolical designs. Betray your Queen to me, he said to us, and I'll not kill you.

Melchett and I had had plenty of time to consider how we might respond to any number of eventualities, and we were prepared for even this. We gave Ludwig the information he thought he wanted, and within two days of his departure we had escaped and were on our way to Richmond to warn the Queen.

I took a man's horse right out from under him and was riding for all I was worth, which wasn't much. I'd been in the dungeon at what I now believe was Westminster for ten days, tortured and half-starved. And I was still recovering from the pistol-shot; still weak, and still in some pain. But I gave the horse its head and tore down the road, heedless of my own safety. At the place where the road turned west, about five miles from Westminster, the horse faltered. I only had time to notice a carriage coming down the road toward me when the horse stumbled to a halt and went down, carrying me with it.

After a few minutes I was able to get up. Nothing was broken, but I'd hurt my right shoulder, which was the one affected by my being shot just below the shoulder blade. I heard the carriage stop before I saw it, and heard a man demand of the driver why they had stopped.

"A rider's gone down on the road, Sir Walter."

Sir Walter? I turned and walked away from the dead horse. It was Mildmay's carriage, and he was staring out of the window in astonishment.

"Blackadder!" As I approached he looked me over with dismay; I was filthy, disheveled, and not hiding my pain very well. "Upon my word, man, I thought you were in Richmond!"

"I was," I said. "I need a horse, Sir Walter."

"What?"

But I was already cutting his lead right horse out of its harness. "I will repay you," I said, and mounted, gasping with the pain.

"Your crossbow!" I held out my hand to one of his men and was given the weapon, with six bolts in a small packet.

Mildmay called my name as I wheeled the horse to resume my urgent errand.

"For the Queen!" I yelled back, and I and Mildmay's horse thundered down the road to Richmond Castle.

I arrived considerably ahead of Melchett and was able to tell the Queen of Ludwig's plan to usurp the throne.

"If he succeeds, he will have all of Germany's political, financial and military power backing him up, madam. England will be lost."

"Then we have to stop him!" she said. Being queen meant she could say things and they would become truth. Sometimes she had to say them more than once, but they became truth nonetheless.

"Yes." I paced the floor and chewed a thumbnail. Of course Percy and I would be armed with sword and dagger, and there were the guards standing just outside the doors. Baldrick and the Queen would have daggers, but I didn't want her involved. And Melchett, so far as I knew, never went armed. As I was considering these things, Melchett entered closely followed by Baldrick, and gave me a nod as he took his place by the Queen's side.

"Melchett, we need a back-up plan in case Percy and I can't forestall the man."

Melchett clasped his hands in front of his robes and thought, looking around the room. Then his eyes lit on the dessert tray on the table against the wall.

"We could poison the pastries," he said.

"Not all of them, please. I've had experience with poison before, it's not pleasant." I examined the sweets on the tray. "Hmm . . . chocolate with coconut and almond frosting." I took that piece off and carried the tray around the court. The guards got biscuits. "Baldrick, you take a biscuit as well. Nursie, you look hungry, please take a piece of cake—take two. And for you, madam . . ." I had saved aside a small cherry tort in the shape of a heart, and handed it to her. Then I took the tray back to the dessert table and put the rather largish piece of chocolate cake in the center of it.

"This is very good, Edmund," the Queen said licking her fingers, "but do you have a plan?"

"Indeed, ma'am. Send a page to Marbeck for a strong, fast-acting poison. Ludwig won't be able to resist the chocolate cake with coconut and almond frosting." Of course, now it's called German's chocolate cake, and not without good reason.

"And now, madam, I must tell you Ludwig said that he would use a costume to get into the party. May I suggest another woman take your place, in costume, to remove you from danger."

"You mean some woman with a broad bottom dressed as my father and sitting on my throne, in my place?"

"It is an unpleasant thought, madam," Melchett said, "but consider the alternative."

"I have, and I'm not going anywhere. Besides, I will have my Lord Chamberlain, my Lords Blackadder and Percy—" She looked around for Percy, who was not there. "Is Lord Percy coming, Blackadder?"

"I assure you, madam, nothing could keep Percy from a fancy dress party."

"—and Blackadder's monkey, to protect me."

"Yes, your Majesty." Baldrick actually bowed.

"And me, my lambkin.I could stab him with my scissors."

"Yes, Nursie, you, too."

I stepped forward. "Is there no way I can dissuade you, Majesty?"

"No. I'm going to be right here, and we'll see this usurper caught, killed, drawn and quartered, beheaded, and his head put on a pike outside the palace gate!"

"Then tonight you must act as though you have not seen Melchett and I since we were captured. If you don't, Ludwig will know you are aware of his plot."

At that moment the page entered the room, bowed to the Queen, and brought a small vial to me. I turned the cake over and speared it with my dagger, then unstopped the bottle and dribbled its contents into the center of the cake. For good measure I sprinkled the last of it onto the frosting and stirred it in with my finger. It looked delicious.

Just as I was about to lick the frosting off my finger, Baldrick took a quick step forward and grabbed my hand, covering it with a surprisingly clean handkerchief.

"Please, my lord," he said quietly. "Remember last time."

Elizabeth looked at the watch on the jeweled band around her wrist, Dudley's gift from what seemed an eternity ago. "Well, everyone, I'm off to change. Meet you all back here in half an hour! Oh, but Blackadder, you and Melchett have no costumes!"

"It's alright, Majesty," Melchett said. "I don't believe Ludwig's going to expect us to be dressed up."

• • •

The party had officially begun, and two of the guests had not yet arrived. Their absence was unremarked; everyone was admiring the Queen's costume. She was wonderfully dressed as Henry VIII, and Nursie was dressed as a delightful black cow with white spots.

"Yo, ho, ho. Off with her head," the Queen intoned.

"Ma'am, it is brilliant," Percy gushed. "Your father is born again."

"Let's bally well hope not, or else I won't be queen anymore. Yours is pretty good, too. What is it?"

Percy was brightly clad in silk of many colors. "Nothing, ma'am. Just a mere trifle I threw together."

"Mmm, doesn't look much like a trifle." The Queen was still thinking about desserts. "Looks more like a fruit salad to me."

"I see Nursie has really excelled herself," Percy said graciously.

Nursie lifted her head and mooed. Her costume was truly astounding.

"Yes, she has. I'm not sure about this, though." She turned to Baldrick, who had a pencil up each nose. "What are you meant to be?"

"A pencil case."

"Oh, yes." The Queen gave Baldrick an odd look. "It's just like parties I had when I was tiny. We had tea and cakes and venison and then a trip with a couple of little friends to the executions."

"How sweet," Percy said.

"If I wanted any of my friends executed, that is." Another glance at Baldrick. "How I do wish Edmund could be here. He always loved parties and always, always wore very, very tight tights."

Percy did not know of the daring escape, or of Ludwig's plan to crash the party, or of Blackadder and Melchett's plans to stop him taking the throne. It was just as well, as Percy might have blurted it out at the wrong moment and spoiled everything.

"Edmund who?"

As he spoke, the doors opened and Blackadder swept into the room.

"Edmund Blackadder." He slapped Percy on the back of the head and knelt before the Queen. "Majesty!"

"Edmund! But . . ."

Blackadder rose. "Did you ever know me to miss a party?"

She smiled, beaming at him., then wrinkled her nose. "Oooh! But what about Lord Melchett?"

"Yes," Blackadder said. "Unfortunately, he made it too."

Melchett took his cue and came striding in, bowing before the Queen.

"Rapture! Joy beyond measure! Bliss which cannot be counted on one's fingers!"

Blackadder rolled his eyes; trust Melchett to overplay his part. "Baaa," he said quietly.

"Sorry, Edmund?" the Queen asked.

"Nothing." But it had shut Melchett up.

"Yes," she continued. "Unfortunately, apart from my nose getting a little prettier, nothing much has changed around here. Your animal still isn't housetrained. Your friend's still unemployed. And Nursie's one stick short of a bundle."

"Moo!" Nursie said.

Blackadder barely gave Nursie a glance. "Ah, yes, thank you for reminding me." And he drew his sword and thrust Nursie through.

Elizabeth was beside herself. "Nursie! You've killed Nursie! That's _horrid!_ Guards, guards! Take him away and execute him. He's killed Nursie!"

Before the guards could step away from their stations at the doors, Nursie entered and stopped just inside the doorway. She was wearing an absurdly bad cow costume, with multiple udders, which she held up with both hands.

"Can anyone help me with my udders?"

"Nursie!" The Queen was stunned.

"Yes?" Nursie said.

"Yes!" Blackadder said, and strode to the chair at Elizabeth's left hand. "And may I introduce our erstwhile captor . . . Prince Ludwig the Indestructible." He tore off the head of the cow costume to reveal the dying Ludwig.

It turned out she, along with Blackadder and Melchett, had met Ludwig before as well. In her case, he was the stable boy who held her pony for her.

"No! You?! Shorty Greasy Spot Spot?" For that had been his nickname.

"No, no, no!" He rose from Nursie's chair. "You will regret the day you ever mocked my complexion. I will return and wreak my rewenge!" And he rushed out of the room and into the corridor. But Blackadder was prepared even for that eventuality. He picked up the crossbow he had taken from one of Mildmay's men.

"No you won't," he said, and let loose the bolt. "You will die and be buried."

"Strange man," he remarked as everyone cheered.

"But how did you know it was him?" Elizabeth asked.

"This was the information with which we bought our lives," Blackadder explained. "We told him that if the queen was having a party, then Nursie always goes as a cow. From that moment, he was doomed. All we had to do was escape, return and kill the cow."

"But how could you be sure it wasn't Nursie?"

"Because, lady, Ludwig was a master of disguise, whereas Nursie is a sad, insane old woman with an udder fixation. All I had to do was kill the one that looked like the cow. That was the mistake I knew that Ludwig would make. His disguise was too good."

"Gosh, Edmund, how brilliant! Welcome home."

He was having difficulty staying upright, but he never missed a beat. "Well, I must say, ma'am, it is good to be back."

Percy, colorful silk fluttering as he crossed to Blackadder, said, "Welcome, Edmund. Did you . . . miss me?"

"I certainly did. Many was the time Percy, I said to myself, I wish Percy was here . . ."

Edmund winced slightly as Percy wrapped him in a hug—the shoulder, the back. " . . . being tortured instead of me."

"How we have missed your wit!" Poor Percy, oblivious.

Baldrick had to joke. "Did you miss me, my lord?"

And Blackadder gave it back to him. "Ahm . . . Baldrick, isn't it?"

"That's right."

"No, not really."

Then Elizabeth spoke. "And me, did you miss me, Edmund?"

He stood as straight before her as he could. "Madam, life without you was like . . . a broken pencil."

"Explain."

"Pointless."

Night had fallen. Tapers were lit and set in front of gold and silver plates along the walls to provide light and the Privy Chamber, only an hour ago the scene of conflict, became a cozy room illuminated with golden light. Blackadder, clearly reaching the end of his endurance, was given a chair. As he sat, Baldrick moved to stand behind him. And as tired as Blackadder was, and in his weakened state, he was strangely comforted to know his old friend was guarding his back. It meant he could relax his guard just the tiniest bit.

The guards returned shortly to report they'd taken up Ludwig's body and carried it to the dungeon. Elizabeth was pleased. "Good! Tomorrow you can cut off his head and put it up on a pike with a sign saying, This is done to all who attempt the Queen's life."

Blackadder smiled. Then he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and turned just in time to see Percy picking up the piece of chocolate cake. In two bounding steps he had reached him and taken the cake from his hand.

"Percy, what are you doing?"

"Well, I thought you wouldn't mind," Percy said, hurt.

"Normally I wouldn't, except this cake has been poisoned." Blackadder set the cake back on the plate and carefully brushed his fingers on his hose.

"I know!" Elizabeth said. "I'll write a note and we'll put it on the cake so no one will eat it. Melchy, give me a pencil and paper." She leaned over and wrote, speaking as she did so. "Do not eat the cake: it is poisoned. Here, Percy, put it beside the cake."

Blackadder waited until Percy had done as instructed and then returned to his chair.

"Edmund, this party was for you, you know, to celebrate your having saved my life. Anyway, I feel just awful about how it worked out, with me thinking you'd killed Nursie and yelling at you."

He started to get out of his chair, intending to bow.

"Oh, stay put, Edmund! Because you and Melchett saved my life tonight instead of getting your party, we'll have a scrumptious supper tomorrow in the Privy Garden, just you and me and Melchett and Nursie and Percy . . ." She looked at the man standing behind him. "And Baldrick."

He was mildly surprised; he couldn't recall her addressing his servant by name.

He came to a short time later with the realization he'd been nodding, and stood. "Madam, I beg to be excused. It's been a rather long day . . ."

"Of course you may go! And don't forget, we'll meet right here, just our small group. Six o'clock, as always."

"Madam." Blackadder bowed, and left with Baldrick.

The Queen jumped up and down in her throne, suddenly excited. "Let's do something to distract Edmund from his troubles."

"That's a wonderful idea, poppet. What shall we do?"

"I know! We could get one of my maidens of honor to dress up like me, and I'll watch from the spy hole to see how long it takes Edmund to realize it's not me, and when he does, I'll come out and give him a prize!"

And she knew exactly what the prize would be. She had been going to ask him the question nearly two weeks ago, before he and Melchett had been so rudely carried off by Ludwig and his man. But of course that hadn't worked out, and then she had been going to ask him tonight, and Ludwig had crashed the party. But tomorrow—tomorrow, she would ask him.

Then Melchett spoke. "It does sound like an amusing distraction, ma'am, but surely he will know it is not you when he gets close."

"No, because we'll only have half the candles lighted, so it will be rather dark. And I'll have Carolyn take my place. She looks almost exactly like me, except her nose isn't as pretty. Which is really good, or I'd have to have it cut off."

**• • •**

The following evening, the Privy Chamber was prepared for the deception. There were extra candles in front of gold and silver plates arranged most cunningly against the walls, so that the light would shine in the eyes of anyone looking toward the throne at the end of the room. The tall candle stands which stood to either side of the throne were unlit, throwing the throne itself into shadow.

The small party milled about in the room, waiting for Elizabeth to appear. Nursie looked strangely lost without her ever-present handwork, although her sewing basket stood nearby. On the other side of Melchett stood Blackadder in an unusual white linen shirt under his doublet, the only visible sign of the last two week's trials a slight darkness beneath his eyes, accentuated by the paleness of his skin. Across from him stood Percy, trying unsuccessfully to hide his excitement at actually being present at a private supper with the Queen. And as promised Baldrick was there, completing the group.

Melchett, his normally sad eyes almost smiling, turned to Blackadder and said quietly, "A most unusual thing has happened, Blackadder."

"Indeed? Has Lord Dudley repented of his sins and decided to become a monk?"

"No, he hasn't. But Marbeck told me earlier that the body of that German, Ludwig, was stolen out of his morgue early this morning."

"Probably medical students needing a body to dissect." The idea bothered Blackadder slightly; still, he understood the need to gain knowledge. "Now if we could just get Dudley to swear off worldly goods and ambitions and enter a monastery, my day would be complete."

Trumpets began to herald the passage of their sovereign through the corridors of the palace. They all turned toward the door and Blackadder stood even straighter.

The door at the side of the chamber opened and the Gentleman Usher stepped just inside. "Her Majesty the Queen," he said, and stepped back out. The Queen then entered the room, gliding up to the throne

Melchett cleared his throat. "Let's pray before we go into the garden, shall we?" They all closed their eyes and bowed their heads. Footsteps interrupted the stillness, then a swish of silks and an exclamation, suddenly cut off.

Blackadder looked up and opened his eyes. The Queen had slumped to the floor, the side of her gown stained red. And yet another queen stood over her, wielding a bloody dagger. He was puzzled only for a split second, then he understood.

"Now, Edmund," the standing queen said. "It's a trick. You must guess which one of us is the Queen!"

"My guess is you're Ludwig." Blackadder walked to the double doors and closed them, then grabbed an ornately carved chair from the wall and jammed the back beneath the door handles.

"Come back to finish what you've started?" He walked slowly back to the dessert table and leaned against it. As he talked he furtively took the paper from the cake plate. Crumpling it in his hand, he let it fall to the floor behind him. His heart ached for the Queen, but there was nothing to be done for her now. He only hoped to prevent any further damage.

"Melchett, Nursie," he said. "Get out. He doesn't want you."

"Oh, but that is vhere you are wrong, Blackadder," Ludwig said, dropping the English accent. "I do vant them. No vun must surwife to betray my place here."

"You won't let them go, then?"

"No, effryvun must die. Especially you. Ve are alike, you and I. You must die—my first attempt, at Apethorpe, failed."

"That was you behind the arras, then?"

"Yes!" Ludwig chuckled. "Quite clever, vasn't I? But especially you cannot surwife to challenge me in my quest to rule ze verld. My sincerest aple-ogees."

"Very well." Blackadder crossed to the already closed side door and jammed another chair beneath its handle. As he turned, he drew his sword and engaged the German.

In a fight between one man armed with a rapier and one armed with a dagger, the man armed with the rapier has a far longer reach and should win. Blackadder was highly skilled but he was also tired, and his shoulder slowed him down. Ludwig may have been half mad, but he was amazingly quick. On the third engagement, he spun inside Blackadder's guard and buried his dagger up to the hilt in Blackadder's chest.

Blackadder fell to his knees, a look of surprise on his features. "Not again."

Ludwig pulled his dagger from Blackadder and pushed him over with his foot.

As Edmund lay on the floor, he could hear blade-work through the sound of his pulse pounding in his ears. Percy, he thought. Percy wasn't bad, actually. But Ludwig was mad, and mad beats not bad any day.

Melchett suddenly appeared above him. "Blackadder, my friend, I'm so sorry."

Edmund wanted to tell him it was alright, that he understood, but Melchett was suddenly pulled away from him and almost immediately afterwards hit the floor. Baldrick somewhere in there, and Nursie cursing like a sailor, probably charging the man with her scissors. Soon all was quiet. He turned his head, looking for his Queen.

* * *

**But all is not as it seems . . . I know it isn't fair to leave you with this cliffy, but I couldn't resist!**

**Ludwig the Indestructable pronounces apologies as apple-ogees, with a hard G.**

**Trust me, it is _nowhere_ near over! Well, it is over, but not like we think. Please leave reviews with constructive criticism; I love them as they help me know whether or not I am doing well. :-)  
**


	14. Chapter 14

**In which Ludwig the Indestructable finds out he is not, Queenie cries, and Edmund and Percy come to an understanding.**

**I do not own Blackadder or any of his friends; I'm only playing with them.**

* * *

Behind the wall, Elizabeth was frantic with what she had just seen. The whole thing had taken maybe two minutes.

"Ludwig is back, and he's killed Carolyn and stabbed them all! Guards, Edmund's blocked the doors to keep Ludwig in, but you must break them down. And get my physician immediately!"

Then she put her eye back to the spy-hole, as if she could influence events simply by watching them unfold. Ludwig was ignoring Edmund completely. He stood amongst the carnage, barely breathing hard, and laughed. "Now, this is a disguise I'm really going to enjoy. If I can just get the voice right."

Edmund was on his back, one fist wadded in the front of his doublet. As she watched, he turned his head toward Carolyn and reached out to her with his other hand. He thinks that's me, Elizabeth thought. He thinks I'm dead! From a distance, through the walls, she could hear pounding as the guards began trying to break through the double doors. Eye back to the spy-hole. Ludwig had bent and was cleaning his dagger on Melchett's robes. Unbelievably, Edmund had rolled over, located his dagger, and was crawling toward the throne, dagger in hand. Her heart in her throat, she watched as he climbed up onto the dais and then pulled himself up by the carved arm of the chair. He stood swaying before the throne, dagger held out before him.

Ludwig crossed the room to the dessert table, drank a goblet of wine, saw the cake, ate it in three bites, and had another goblet of wine. Then he turned to the front of the room and laughed at Edmund guarding Elizabeth's really big chair.

"Do you honestly believe you can prewent me from taking the throne? As you English say, you really take the cake!"

Edmund coughed; his knees buckled and he slid down to sit on the edge of the seat of power of England.

"No, you really take the cake—well, you've already taken it." He coughed again and wiped the corner of his mouth with his free hand. "You didn't happen to notice it was poisoned?"

Ludwig sheathed his dagger and laughed derisively. "You don't expect me to fall for zat old trick?"

"I fell for it once," Blackadder said quietly.

"You are dying, Blackadder, and soon I—" Ludwig collapsed to the floor on his face.

By force of will Blackadder pushed himself up to go unblock the doors.

Elizabeth ran out into the hall and arrived just as the double doors crashed into the room. From right behind the guards, she just glimpsed Edmund as he collapsed.

While the guards checked Ludwig to make sure he was dead, Marbeck was looking over the others to see if he could do anything for them. Elizabeth ran to Edmund and sat on the floor next to him. Taking his head and shoulders into her lap, she cradled his head in her arm. He opened his eyes and looked at her, surprise crossing his features briefly. She was weeping, but as she was the queen and as tough as her nose was pretty; she wept silently.

"Edmund, please forgive me. We were playing a joke on you, to see how long before you knew it wasn't me. I was going to ask you after."

He licked dry lips and gathered his breath. "Ask what?"

"Edmund, will you marry me?"

He took several shallow breaths. "When?"

Just then Marbeck knelt beside them. She turned a beseeching face toward him. "Can't you do something, heal him like you did the last time?"

Marbeck glanced briefly at Blackadder's face, then undid the dozen buttons of the doublet and pulled it back to reveal the linen shirt, so sodden with blood that it could not be told from the crimson lining of the doublet. He caught her eye and shook his head.

"Oh, Ned." She used her pet name for him. "Sweet Blackadder, I love you."

He reached up to touch her face, as if he would wipe the tears from her cheeks. His fingertips barely grazed her skin.

She took his hand and kissed it and held it to her cheek.

He swallowed and licked his lips again. "Love you," he murmured.

Elizabeth lowered his hand to his chest and ran her fingers through his hair, brushing the damp curls away from his forehead.

"Edmund," she said, leaning over him. "Let me hear you call me Bess just once."

He struggled for air and then, with a tender smile that broke her heart, whispered her name.

She squeezed her eyes shut just for a second; when she opened them, he was gone. She wrapped her fingers in his curls and wept bitterly.

• • •

The next day near midnight Percy, Blackadder and Baldrick were in Blackadder's upstairs chamber. Baldrick was quietly packing books and assorted things into a large trunk.

"Thank you for the use of your dagger, Baldrick." Blackadder said. "It was fortunate Marbeck put us in the same room as Ludwig. You have no idea the satisfaction it gave me to watch that man finally die."

"Yes, my lord, I know what you mean."

Edmund opened a panel in the wall and removed a small chest. As he checked the contents, Percy paced back and forth before the door.

"I am not at all happy about this, Edmund."

"What are you talking about, Percy?" Edmund put the chest into the trunk and perched on the edge of the table. "Are you not happy you're alive?"

"No. Yes, I'm glad I'm alive, but it's never before involved other people."

"It involved my whole family last time, if I recall."

"I know, but—"

"My father, Percy, such as he was. My mother. My brother." Blackadder's face was tight. "My little bride, Leia. Who actually wasn't that little when she died. And it was your doing. You poisoned the entire wine butt."

Percy shook his head. "But Edmund, I only meant to save you! I didn't mean to kill them!"

"I know, Percy." Edmund said quietly, glancing at Baldrick. "And I generally don't go throwing what you did in your face, do I? You couldn't have known what was going to happen that night or the day following; none of us could. And once the harm was done, there was nothing you could have done to change it."

Percy, though, had the tenacity of a dog. On the rare occasion he got hold of an idea, he wouldn't let it go.

"That's true, but this time I think it could have been prevented."

"Oh, I see, Percy. When I was killed the ﬁrst time by drinking the wine you poisoned, it wasn't your fault. But this time, when others are killed after I've been stabbed and am myself on the ﬂoor bleeding to death, it is my fault."

"They didn't have to die." Percy insisted.

Blackadder rose and stood very still while he spoke, facing Percy across the table. "Right."

Having ﬁnished packing, Baldrick stood a short distance away, watching.

"While you were enjoying the comforts of court, Melchett and I had been kidnapped and I was being tortured for no discernable reason. Even been tortured, Percy? No? Well, this is my second go-round, and I can tell you I don't ﬁnd it enjoyable in the least. Ludwig told us his plan was to kill the Queen and take the throne. Melchett and I agreed that the fancy-dress party the Queen had already scheduled should go ahead, but we would be there waiting for him. We managed to escape and I rode a horse to death to get to the Queen with our plan. Melchett followed as fast as he could, and then we came into the party together so Ludwig wouldn't catch on that I'd warned her Majesty. We uncovered Ludwig and I skewered him with my sword. And when he ran, I shot him with a bolt from my crossbow. We all thought him dead. Those two wounds would have killed any normal man, Percy. Haven't you wondered why Ludwig was able to get up and run not long after I'd run him through, and how he lived to return and do his evil work?"

Blackadder paused, giving Percy a chance to figure it out. It was Baldrick, though, who kindly supplied Percy with the answer.

"The only way Ludwig could have survived and come back the following night, my lord, is if he was like us."

Percy's expression epitomized confusion. "Like—but how could that have happened?"

Blackadder was tired, and rapidly tiring of Percy's mindless rolling through history, his love of fashion and empty-headed pursuit of social activities. "Which delegation arrived from which country the day we were to be burned alive by the Witchsmeller, Percy?"

"I don't remember."

"Of course you don't. Your brain is as useless to you as a set of mammaries is to a male dog. I do remember, as it happens; I had to listen to Harry greet them in their own vulgar tongue. They were from Germany, and by coincidence were passing by when Mother's magic spilled over and must have hit one Ludwig of Lübingen, part of the retinue of ambassadors come to propose a new treaty, since all the treaties in the last ten years had been rendered null and void, as everyone had broken them." Blackadder crossed his arms.

"He lived like us, recovering easily from his injuries and aging but imperceptibly. Being vain, he believed his good health came from within himself. Therefore he styled himself Ludwig the Indestructible and got it into his head that he would conquer the whole world, starting with England. It only took him fifty years to perfect his art of disguise, and then he was ready. The night he kidnapped Melchett and me, he was ready. The night he came as a cow in Nursie's place, he was ready. And the next night, when he came back to finish what he'd begun, he was ready."

Blackadder's voice was tight with self-loathing. "None of us expected him to come back. I didn't, did you, Baldrick?"

"No, my lord, I did not."

"Did you, Percy?"

"Do you know what her name was?" Percy's voice was low.

"Whose name?"

"The woman who died in the Queen's place."

"No, and I don't care."

"Her name was Carolyn." Percy lifted his head. "And another thing. I don't like the way you speak to me."

Edmund sat down and put his head in his hands. "Oh, for God's sake, grow up, man." He looked up at Percy. "Would you have sacriﬁced the Queen of England, who happens to be your sovereign as well as mine, for one kitchen drudge?"

Percy twitched his head. "She didn't work in the kitchens. She was a maiden of honor to the Queen, and she loved me."

"Just as Gwendolyn did, no doubt. What makes you think so, Percy? Was she nice to you, did she speak to you as if you were a human being, did you rub elbows with her as you passed in the corridor?"

"I don't have to tell you that."

Putting his head back in his hands, Edmund rubbed his temples. "You're right, you don't have to. I can see in your face you have no idea what love really is. You're stuck at the age of twelve, like an infatuated schoolboy." Baldrick moved to stand behind Blackadder's chair and laid his hand on his old friend's shoulder to stop him before he became cruel.

"Very well." Percy gathered what little dignity he could. "Answer me for Kat Ashley."

"Kat Ashley?"

"Oh, sorry, you only knew her as Nursie. Answer me for Nursie—and for Lord Melchett."

Edmund lifted his head. "Answer you?" He stood, his face paler than usual. "Very well. Your maiden of honor, by the way, volunteered to take the Queen's place the second night in order to play a joke on me. The Queen, Melchett, and Nursie were all in on it. None of them knew they were placing their lives at stake. And as far as I am concerned, Lord Melchett died a hero. Not for a moment, I can assure you, did either of us give a thought for our own lives."

"Of course _you_ didn't," Percy said "when you knew you couldn't be killed!"

Blackadder leaned across the table and slapped Percy hard. Percy straightened from the blow, the expression on his face one of hurt and betrayal.

"You really are as stupid as you look, aren't you?" Blackadder said quietly. "Melchett and I were friends."

Edmund Blackadder walked out of the room, and out of the house. When he came back very early the next morning, Percy was gone. Blackadder never saw him again.

**(Blackadder's POV)**

Baldrick and I had to leave; to stay was to invite questions we would rather not have answered. Of course, our absence raised nearly as many questions as our staying would have; because our bodies were never found and there was no decent burial, the rumors flew thick and fast. I think the one that hurt most was that I had been scheming to take the throne and had myself let Ludwig into the Queen's privy chamber that night.

As all things do after time however, that particular hubbub died down. Elizabeth continued to reign wisely and well, and for that I was glad. England needed a monarch who had a good head about her. At the same time, however, over the years I saw that she was beginning to attain an almost legendary status. It bothered me, I must admit, and there were times when I considered going back in disguise and seeing what the fuss was all about. But I stayed away, living quietly in the North under an assumed name and building my estate with the faithful Baldrick at my side.

I feel here I ought to put in a word for Baldrick. He suffered my anger and disdain for decades; he shared my rapturous heights and my melancholies; he went along with every cock-eyed plan I ever cooked up, and all without complaint. Or at least, with very few complaints. It wasn't until Elizabeth, I think, that I began to comprehend the true measure of the man. He was the best friend I had ever had, and I should have appreciated him far sooner than I did.

**1587**

I finally sold the house on Drury Lane. I had been letting the house to a man and his wife and their seven children named Sutcliffe. I don't mean all the children were named Sutcliffe, of course. One was named Edmund, if I remember correctly. But they had been good renters for over a dozen years and I was happy to offer Sutcliffe the house for a reasonable price and he was happy to oblige me by taking it off my hands. When I bought the house in 1554, it had been surrounded by fields in which cattle were grazed and wheat and barley were grown. Now it was surrounded by many other houses and shops, all filled with people. The general uproar was not sufficient to my tastes. I think probably living in the north had spoiled me.

We sold the house in late January and went down to London to take payment from Sutcliffe and see to the old place in Love Lane in Billingsgate. I had been careful to keep it in good repair and even though it was now nearly eighty years old, it was still strong and tight against the weather. I replaced a few pieces of furniture with plain but sturdy stuff made by a fellow who lived nearby, had some broken tiles on the roof replaced, and headed north for home the seventh of February.

On the way I decided to visit Fotheringhay, where I had stayed briefly with Uncle Richard as a child. I don't know what it was that made me want to see that dear old place. Perhaps it was the increasing impression that people and places and things I had loved in my first life were being lost forever, but I do not recall any kind of maudlin emotion over it. I do remember that as we neared the castle there was a great crowd of people on the road and we were hemmed in from all sides, so that the driver could only walk the horses as fast as the people moved. We were stuck in the press.

The driver said, "I can lay about me with the whip if you want, my Lord, and get this rabble to move."

"What whip?" I inquired of him, and as he held it up for our perusal I took it from him, coiled it neatly and laid it on the floor at my feet. "You'll do nothing of the kind. We will wait until the crowd disperses."

But it did not. In fact, it grew to astounding proportions the nearer we got to the castle.

"Look at them, Baldrick; you'd think they were going for a picnic!"

"Yes, my Lord, it is a nice day for a picnic."

"Don't play stupid with me, Baldrick, I'm serious. This may cramp our plans to see my old rooms. But I do know a secret way in." I looked about me at the crowd. "All we have to do is get out of the carriage and to a door that, unless things have changed, only I know about." I had known about it, in fact, for nearly one hundred twenty years. The kindly old gardner show it to me one evening when at the age of twelve I had gotten out of the castle and would have gotten into serious trouble with my uncle if discovered missing.

The door led to a corridor that led to the Great Hall, which we had to cross and then go up the stairs to my old room. Even when I was a young man I heard it was being used for storage, and I suspected nothing had changed in the ninety years since I had been back. We got into the corridor and bypassed the crowds, then eased into the Great Hall. The minute we entered I knew it was a mistake, for there was a great number of people standing all around the outer edges of the room.

"I don't understand it," I said to Baldrick as we pressed forward, "this room was always empty."

"Not today it isn't," he replied. "We could go back, my Lord."

I turned and glanced at the doors. They had been shut and were guarded by men in armor with drawn swords. The doors on the far side of the room were also bolted and guarded. We could not get out.

I made my way to the front of the crowd and saw a wooden platform draped in black about twelve feet wide against the side wall of the room. On it was a block and a headsman holding a bloody axe. To one side there was a stool, and in front of the block was a pillow for the victim to kneel on. There was going to be an execution. My knees went weak when I thought of all the times Queen Elizabeth had threatened me with this very death. Before I could react in any way however, a woman escorted by two other women, presumably her servants, made her way to the platform and mounted the five steps.

I tapped a man next to me. "Who is that?"

He turned a disbelieving eye on me. "You mean you haven't heard of Mary, the Scots Queen? That traitorous Scottish wench is finally going to meet her end, and I don't envy her a bit."

I turned back to the scene in front of me. I wasn't appalled or offended by this; beheadings were a fairly common thing in those days and we were used to them. As for Mary herself, she had been a prisoner of Elizabeth for twenty years and the Lords had been petitioning a reluctant Elizabeth to have her put to death for a long time. She had become a part of the landscape. The only terror a beheading could hold for me was to remind me how many times I had narrowly escaped it myself.

Mary stood very still and the headsman suddenly knelt before her. I couldn't hear what he said, though I learned later he asked her forgiveness. I scorned the man for being weak and said so to my servant.

"The man's a quivering nancy, Baldrick. Look at him, on his knees to the very woman whose head he's about to lop off!"

Baldrick said quietly, "You can't help being sorry afterward, my Lord. I know I couldn't."

Then it was I remembered he had worked for Ploppy under the Lord High Executioner for Elizabeth, even before my short tenure in that office. Then it was I remembered his long silences on evenings when he'd had to do the job himself.

The two servants—and the headsman!—helped her remove her bodice, her skirts, her petticoats and her corset. Under it all she was wearing a long, dark red chemise. She was then blindfolded and made to kneel, her head placed on the block and her arms behind her. The headsman took his position and said something else I could not hear. I saw her nod her head, and he lifted his axe. Suddenly the spell holding me was broken and I turned away, my only desire to get to the door and get out.

The guards had sheathed their swords and the doors were no longer blocked. I heard the axe fall as I opened the door, and I heard it fall again as I closed it behind me. A short while later, Baldrick caught up to me where I waited by the staircase.

"Ah, Baldrick, there you are. Sorry I left, but I wanted to make certain we could get up the stairs to my rooms before the crowd began running all over the place."

Baldrick ignored me. He was the nearest thing to angry I had seen so far in our long relationship.

"It took him two strokes to finish the job," he fumed. "Two strokes! I don't think she felt much, but it was still cruel. Either it was cruel or he wasn't the man for the job. Or the axe was dull. He should have used a very sharp axe, aimed right for the middle of the neck, and come down swift with one powerful stroke—like you do when you're chopping wood, my lord." I had taken to chopping my own wood at Blackadder castle for "need of exercise". In the early years after the tragedy I was often up very early of a morning chopping wood when we already had quite a sufficient supply. But after a while, I chopped what we needed out of habit. It was the job I'd taken on.

"Come on, let's go upstairs and take a look at my old digs." I wanted to be distracted from what had just happened, and from the unsettling knowledge that my servant had just given me instructions on how to take off someone's head using, of course, a very sharp axe.

* * *

**True confession time: I never was satisfied with how the second series of Black Adder ended, so I wrote it the way I wanted, and Edmund continues on, while Ludwig gets his comeuppance and England is saved (depending on your point of view). Percy obviously hasn't handled "Mother's gift" and the changes that have come with it very well, and his story is a bit different from here on—but he's not out of the picture entirely, as we will see later. :-)**

**The beheading of Mary Queen of Scots was a horrible thing. Not simply because she was beheaded, but because of the way it was done. It did take two strokes to do most of the work, and the first stroke was almost a complete miss. There still needed to be a little knife work done after the second stroke, sadly. When the headsman held up her head to show the crowd, he was left holding her wig as her actual head separated from the wig and fell to the floor, rolling some distance away. If you want any more detail than that, I suggest you do your own research, as even I find it quite gory. Those were definitely different times.**

**Thanks so much for the reviews, from another guest and from Pliffy! I noticed I had readers from the US, the UK, Spain, Finland, Australia, the Netherlands, Ireland, China, Ukraine, Greece, and Norway. **** Thanks so much to all of you who are reading—****I love you all! **


	15. Chapter 15

**Because this chapter and the last are so short, I have put them here together. Enjoy!**

**In which Blackadder takes his life in his hands, Elizabeth takes her heart off the shelf for a few minutes, and Sir Robert Dee is a pest.**

**The usual disclaimer: I do not own Blackadder or the characters, but really, really, wish I did. **

* * *

**1588 (Blackadder's POV)**

Robert, Lord Dudley, was never far from the throne. From one quarter or another I would hear of his latest forays into the Queen's inner circle and her adroit handling of him. Finally, from what I understood, he withdrew. It could have been on account of his illness—his stomach bothered him more and more, and I heard she sent him different cures from Marbeck, but none availed. On the 4th of September 1588, Dudley died.

I waited until after the funeral and burial and then did a very rash thing. I had Baldrick drive me down to London and took up residence in the "old Blackadder house" in Billingsgate. That night I took extra care with my bath and grooming. The next day, Baldrick took me to Richmond where Elizabeth was in residence, and I had myself presented to the Queen. It had been twenty-two years and I had not aged; my intent was to gain admittance under my own name and then claim I was my son. Looking back on it, it was hardly fair to the Queen.

**• • •**

When Elizabeth heard a Lord Blackadder had requested an audience with her, she was at first quite at a loss what to think. This situation required the same rapidity of reasoning which she applied to affairs of state, and she used it. She had known of no other Lords Blackadder since Edmund's death. But then, his body—and that of his servant—had disappeared and never been found. Had they lived? Perhaps an accomplice had helped them off the grounds to some safe place and the servant, Baldrick was his name, had nursed Edmund back to health. She could only hope. They had been of an age, so he would be fifty-five years old, if he had lived. Like herself, he would be grey-haired and missing teeth, she thought as she ran her tongue over the empty spaces in her mouth. But he would still be Edmund, wouldnt' he? He would still love her.

She put both hands to her wig to make sure it was still straight, then smoothed her skirts around her hips. How thankful she was that she still danced and her figure had not gained the fatness of age, that her arms and legs were still firm, and that the wrinkles on her face were not as deep as they could have been.

She had become somewhat nearsighted, but that did not obscure her sight when the young man entered her chamber and doffed his hat to kneel before her. Her heart fell for just a moment; she never let her disappointment show. This was not Edmund, but his son. It saddened her that she had not borne this son to Edmund.

She gazed at the man on one knee before her. "You may rise, Lord Blackadder."

He rose and stood before her, his eyes respectfully downcast.

"Are you here to pay court to your Sovereign, Lord Blackadder?" she asked.

"Yes, your Majesty," he said as he stood, and it was as if Edmund was back before her again.

She caught her breath for an instant. "Indeed, you are very like your father. I take it you are the son of Lord Edmund Blackadder, who served me faithfully for nearly eight years?"

Blackadder swallowed. He had promised—long ago—that he would never lie to her. "Yes, majesty."

He had always thought of her the way she looked that night she had asked him, an eternity too late, to marry her. Seated before him was a shadow of the woman he had loved, a woman easily old enough, if he went by physical appearance, to be his mother. This woman was also much wiser than the one from whom he had been separated twenty-two years. He hadn't considered that; like a fool, he had imagined she would be unchanged.

She smiled, a small reserved thing compared to the sunny grins she used to give him. Yes, this woman had changed.

"You had a pleasant trip from your family estate?"

"Yes, majesty."

"And you are in good health?"

"Yes, majesty."

She toyed with the small psalter tied to her belt and wondered what this young man could possibly want. He said he was here to pay her court, but with the young men surrounding her in the Audience Chamber most days, he wouldn't stand a chance at this late date. He hardly looked stupid; he had the same intelligence about him that Edmund had had. On a whim she allowed herself to play along with her imagination.

"Your given name, it is Edmund, is it not?"

"Yes, majesty."

"And you are going to tell me at some point the purpose for your visit?"

"Yes, majesty."

Suddenly she felt as if the room had closed in on her.

"And quit saying 'yes Majesty', Blackadder. You sound like a parrot."

"Yes, Majesty."

"Did you not hear me," she whispered, more to herself than to him. "I should have you whipped for your insolence!"

He stood silent before her, then raised his right eyebrow and smiled, the merest twitch of a lip.

It occurred to her that she was either being toyed with or she was losing her mind, and she had no question of her sanity.

"Approach us," she commanded.

The man walked forward and stopped eight paces from the throne. Even as close as twelve feet, he wasn't close enough.

"You may draw near."

"Your majesty—" Sir Robert Dee started.

"Oh, do be quiet, Dee," the Queen snapped. "We have not lived this long being stupid; we do not intend to start being stupid now." She raised a beckoning hand. "Draw near, Lord Blackadder."

It was a command, and he had ever obeyed her commands. He took six steps forward and stood still before her, his face and every thought in his mind and heart open to her searching gaze.

She did not speak, but looked him over carefully and then stood.

"You will accompany us for a walk in the gardens, Lord Blackadder."

"But majesty—" Dee insisted.

"And we shall take our walk without our advisor," she said as she descended from the throne. "Follow us, Lord Blackadder."

He followed her a respectful six paces back, his ears ringing as the trumpets announced her passage through the corridors and out into the gardens. The sun was warm and welcome after the cool inside; he was thankful he had chosen a sunny day for his folly.

She walked in silence for several minutes, then stopped in a bower of coral roses. The man stopped outside the bower and just looked at her, that damned eyebrow beginning to raise again. She stepped up to him until she was close enough to touch him and looked again at his face. Those were the same dark eyes, the same heavy brows with the same arch, that was the same mole on his left cheek . . . it was too much, too much coincidence. She chanced her heart.

"Edmund?"

"Yes, majesty."

"My Edmund?" She thought she might have lost her mind after all, but it seemed worth taking the chance if what she surmised was true.

"Yes, majesty."

"What do you mean by this?"

"May we keep walking? My legs are shaking." He laughed. "I think I'm nervous."

"As well you should be; I can still have your head cut off, you know."

He gave her a sober look. "Yes, majesty, and I would rather you didn't. It's one of the ways I can truly die."

"Then I have not gone mad? You really are Edmund?" She stopped and turned on him suddenly. "Because I swear to you, if I find you are some imposter here to play on my affections, I will do far more to you than have your head cut off."

"No." He licked his lips to wet them. "It is I. I had to stay away. Even now I might be risking my secret; can you understand that?"

Again she searched his face for meaning. It had been so long since they had bared their hearts to each other; too much had changed in both of them for her to assume she knew how to take what he was saying. "Yes, I think I do. You feared I might betray you. To Dee, perhaps."

"Yes, I did. Please forgive me—"

"A wise man is cautious," she murmured, dismissing his fears. "Tell me how this thing has come about."

He explained briefly, then finished with, "I should have died in 1498. I should have died at Apethorpe, when I was shot."

"Marbeck told me he nursed you back to health himself."

"Oh, he did, but my life would have been mine with or without him."

"Did you know you would live?" She looked sideways at him as they walked.

"I suspected something of the sort."

"Oh, Edmund, how awful! I always thought you risked your life to save mine."

"I did, madam, for I had never been shot before. I had no idea whether I would live or die."

"Really? You really didn't know?"

"No, I didn't."

"Well, then," she said picking a small white rose and turning it in her fingers, "You risked your life and I thank you."

"It was my duty, majesty."

They walked a while longer without speaking. As they entered the lily planting, she abruptly turned to him, causing him to stop to avoid walking into her. "You say you were born in 1461?"

"Yes, madam. I was born Edmund Plantagenet. I took the name Blackadder later, to avoid discovery by the new Tudor king."

"That would have been my grandfather."

He nodded, wondering if she would hate him for telling her. But this was the last thing he had held from her and it had to be given up, no matter the consequences.

"You weren't my age even then?"

"No, madam, I was not."

"You were . . . nearly one hundred years old when you came to my court." Her face fell slightly. "You were toying with me the whole time."

"Ah no, madam, never have I toyed with you."

She got indignant. "You told me you were your son just a while ago!"

"Well, I had to gain an audience. If I had told the truth you would have dismissed me as a madman and I would never have seen you."

She took this into consideration and nodded, then said thoughtfully, "Even now you are so much older than I. You are nearly one hundred and thirty years old!"

"I am not a witch, madam. I am simply a man who has lived much longer than he should."

She glanced sideways at him from under an arched brow—an echo from the past—and said, "Some would take that as witchcraft, Edmund."

"Yes, if it were my doing. But it was not." He paused, and when he spoke again he could not keep the pain from his voice. "One might look upon it as a curse."

"Or a blessing," the Queen answered, thinking of the sparse grey hair under her wig, and the scarred visage she hid under layers of thick white makeup, both the ravages of the smallpox that had nearly killed her shortly after she had lost Edmund. The first time, for this would be the second.

They had made a circuit of the garden walk and were going to go around it again when John Dee bustled up, a man inflated with a sense of his own importance if there ever was one. Blackadder disliked him on sight.

"Begging your pardon, majesty—" and here Dee gave Blackadder a look that reminded him of nothing more than a serpent— "but the ambassador from Alsatia is due quite soon."

"Yes, Dee, I will receive him in the Audience Chamber." She didn't want to erase Blackadder's presence from her privy chamber just yet. "Well, go on man, make ready!" And Dee bustled off again. As he hurried away, Blackadder said quietly, "Don't you sometimes miss Melchett?"

Looking after her advisor, she pursed her lips. "More often than you might think." She turned toward the man she had loved. "We must part now."

Blackadder stood straight and tall and addressed his Queen. "Madam . . ." Suddenly he knelt before her. "I have never forgotten you."

She was aware of being watched but stepped closer and laid her hand on his shoulder. The curling dark hair tempted her and she put her hand on his head as if conferring a blessing, which she could not do. Only God can bless—or curse—a man.

"Stand up, Edmund."

He did so and kept his eyes on his shoes, which were very nearly touching the hem of her gown.

"I have never forgotten you." She pulled a piece of yellowed paper from between the pages of her psalter. "Will you return?" But even as she asked she knew he would not.

"Alas, madam, I cannot." He offered no reason, no excuse.

She handed him the paper. "Then you must take this. I don't know how long I will live, but when I die it must not be found among my effects. It would do far more damage to you and—dare I presume?—to England."

He took the paper and slid it into his glove, careful of the folds. She held out her hand to him. As if it were yesterday, he remembered the lingering kisses, the time he nibbled her knuckle. He bent and kissed her hand, then straightened. He couldn't love her now as he once did; she was no longer merely a woman. She had become much more than that; she was a symbol of the nation itself, of strength and might and determination.

He looked at her then, the tender look she had so wished he would give her when they were together. "Farewell then, madam."

"Fare thee well, Edmund," she whispered. She heard him walk down the gravelled path to the colonnade and onto the pavement. She waited a moment more, then stiffened her back, lifted her head, and walked inside. The heralds trumpeted her approach to the Grand Chamber.

That night she locked herself in the Privy Chamber after having dismissed all six of her ladies-in-waiting. Those who passed by at various times of the night heard her weeping and moaning, and they assumed she wept for Dudley.

Blackadder's life continued pretty much the same as it had since 1566. He re-inhabited his house in Drury Lane as his own son, and lived there quietly. Baldrick said he spent a lot of time "singing songs he and Elizabeth had sung together in the happier times, studying the sword and history", particularly of the Plantagenets and Tudors, with such ability as he had. He also went off alone on very long rides north; Baldrick learned much later that Blackadder was scouting the countryside for any lands he might later wish to petition the throne for, should he once again find himself in favor. They also spent a great deal of time at the Castle Plantagenet.

**• • •  
**

When questioned about the years from 1588 to 1648, Baldrick turned his mild face to the interviewer and said, "Elizabeth was his first true love, you see. He mourned their parting for nearly forty years, and after she died he mourned her death for another twenty." Baldrick took a few apples from the bushel basket on the stone floor of the kitchen and began peeling them for pie. "He was very angry about the way Ludwig made it necessary for him to leave her. And very sad." Baldrick picked up another apple. "Angry and sad. That's all I can say."

**• • •**

When the Queen died in 1603, the carriage with her casket was followed by a solemn march of Lords carrying flags bearing their coats of arms. According to Anne Rougemont, who watched the procession from the windows of her house and numbered the Lords in a letter to a friend,

_" . . . amonge them was a Lord Blackadder, sonne of the man who had for six years beene the Quene's favourite until he, along with her advisor and governesse, was murdered in 1566 . . . suche was the sorow on the youngge Blackadder's face I might have thotte him bereved of his own wyffe."_

* * *

**History herein is fairly accurate. Dudley did enjoy the Queen's favor, but was not considered romantically by her after roughly 1580. She was a different woman in her later years, getting paranoid and depressed, though she still ruled well. Dee was an advisor from her early years, but I chose to make him a replacement for Melchett. She did weep sore and often, but it was after her last young suitor, Robert Devereux second Earl of Essex, was beheaded in 1601 for trying to raise up a rebellion.**

* * *

**The second short chapter, in which Baldrick signs up for a job, Blackadder gets greedy, and Charles the First loses his head.**

* * *

**SECOND INTERLUDE**  
**1603-1648**

After James I came to the throne, Lord Blackadder retired back to the North. There was nothing in London now to draw him, and he turned his back on the town just as he had turned his back on the North all those decades ago when Henry VIII had come to power. He was not interested in James or in his court, and with the exception of occasional visits to the house in Billingsgate to transact business, he stayed away.

Blackadder had, as most Englishmen of his time, been born and raised Catholic. There was no other option for anyone of royal birth, because the royalty of England and the Church of Rome were hand in glove.

Things had been fairly peaceful until Elizabeth's later years, when the Catholics, inspired by France and Spain, began to exert their influence again. The old persecutions began anew and grew quietly under King James.

The problems were exacerbated by Charles, however, who had some strange ideas. One was that he should be absolute monarch and that he should not have to answer to Parliament or any other body or person for what he did as King. The Royalists, a majority of whom were Catholic, supported Charles. The Parliament, a majority of whom were puritans— known as Roundheads for their short haircuts—wanted to remove Charles from the throne. Though the situation was much more complex, if one thinks of it in simple terms, the Civil War can almost be laid entirely at Charles' feet.

Through all this Blackadder remained a Royalist. He supported the monarchy, even though he was much less than pleased with Charles. It is possible Blackadder was a Catholic until the time of Elizabeth. The horrors wrought by Bloody Mary of England soured a great many hitherto loyal Catholics on the papal authority and hierarchy of the Church, and Blackadder may have been one so disillusioned.

As a courtier to Queen Elizabeth, and later as her favorite, it was required that he attend chapel with her anytime he was present, which was quite often. One wonders what influence sitting under a Church of England vicar for seven years might have had.

Blackadder liked to paint himself as a man whose first instinct was self-preservation, and insists that like a chameleon he joined whichever side appeared to be winning at the time. However, it is unlikely he was so self-serving, for the following reasons.

He'd had seven years of religious freedom, where if he'd really wanted to he could have attended Catholic mass in addition to the Church of England chapel and he would not have been hindered. It is quite possible he supported Charles not for religious reasons, but rather because he believed so strongly in the monarchy. He saw it as a necessary balance to Parliament. He had great respect for the throne, and believed great good could be done from it. For those reasons, I believe, he was a Royalist; for those reasons he supported Charles.

Toward the end, however, Blackadder was greatly disappointed one man could do so much harm to his beloved country. He saw Charles for what he was, and had little respect for him. Still, when the Cromwells came hunting for Charles with the intent of trying him and putting him to death, he hid the man and his eighteen-year old son.

**November, 1648 to January, 1649**

Castle Plantagenet had been torn down and rebuilt as Blackadder Hall, a very comfortable mansion with all the most modern conveniences for the time. It was located on a gently sloping piece of ground, so that it stood elevated above the surrounding landscape just enough to look slightly grander than it really was. The foundations were laid using old cut stone from the castle, and the drainage and plumbing were magnificent. The front, facing south, was a full three storeys, and each wing stretching back north on the east and west sides was two storeys. The kitchen was located on the southwest corner below the ground floor, in what would nowadays be considered a cellar. It was large, having two fireplaces and a large pantry and an advanced larder, worktables and an indoor sink, enough for servants to feed a party of twenty or twenty-five people.

Baldrick never did understand why Blackadder had such a large kitchen built, but it was usually the warmest room in the hall and in the evenings Blackadder often sat at a table with his feet on a chair before the fireplace, studying some obscure text by candlelight. His own rooms were far more comfortable, but he preferred the company of his servant to the solitude and shadows of his chambers.

Baldrick was preparing fish for supper one evening when Blackadder came in from the cold. He took off his hat and threw it down. "Baldrick, get me some mulled ale, will you? I'm freezing."

Baldrick pulled a goblet from the shelf and asked how the King was, and Blackadder made a joke about the King hiding in his black currant bushes. The combination of ale and cold weather soon sent Blackadder to the small room, but not before he warned Baldrick that Cromwell and his men were near and he was not to reveal to them or anyone else that the King was at Blackadder Hall.

In later years Baldrick pretended to be stupid, but at this early time he still had genuine flashes of idiocy. Cromwell and his men showed up at the kitchen door and invited themselves in from the cold. When asked if the King was at Blackadder Hall, the faithful servant answered in the negative. But when Cromwell grabbed the milk jug and a purple cup in which to drink it, Baldrick informed him he couldn't use that cup because it belonged to the King. So while Sir Edmund Blackadder was in the privy closet, King Charles I of England was arrested at sword point and taken away to the Tower of London.

Blackadder dressed up as a priest and managed to get appointed to administer the last rites to Charles before his execution. And it is true, he did take a large amount of money from the King in return for what was at the time an absolutely nonexistent plan to help him escape. Ever the optimist, Charles was highly skeptical he would be convicted of the charges. Very soon afterward, though, a verdict of guilty was returned and the King was condemned to die.

Blackadder's concern at this point was purely for himself: once the King was dead his own life and that of every other man or woman who had supported the King against Parliament would be forfeit. Therefore, reason dictated, the King must be kept alive. Blackadder, visiting Charles, comforted the King and himself with the sure knowledge that no-one could be found who would sink so low as to behead their own King at the order of Parliament. Upon returning home, however, he discovered Baldrick had taken the job.

"You very small, total bastard!" Blackadder exclaimed, and grabbed Baldrick with one hand and the kitchen axe with the other. He might have given Baldrick a small cut or two, had Baldrick not said he actually took the job because he had a cunning plan to save the King.

The plan was ridiculous and doomed to fail from the start. Baldrick must have been having a run on idiocy, because he told Blackadder he planned on buying a new king and putting him on the throne when no-one was looking.

"You'd do anything for thirty pieces of silver, wouldn't you?" Blackadder sneered.

"It was a thousand pounds, actually, Sir, plus tip," Baldrick said, holding out the bag of money.

Realizing he could not save the King, Blackadder took the bag from Baldrick and said he would do the job himself. He didn't consider as he did so, joking that if it had to be done it should be done in a single stroke by someone who actually owned an axe, what that would mean to him.

The following day Blackadder, dressed in headsman's garb, appeared in the King's room in the Tower and extorted more money from him, first for a tip, and then with the reasoning that Charles couldn't take it with him so he might as well give it to the executioner.

The King uncovered his disguise, however, and immediately assumed that Blackadder had concocted some wonderful plan to save him. Blackadder had been desperate enough to try even Baldrick's absurd plan, but in the end it was of no avail.

He had taken the job in the beginning for the money, and had no care for the King, except that in his good-hearted assumption that Blackadder was going to save him, the King shamed the man into actually trying to do what Charles thought he was planning to do all along—save Charles. Blackadder ended up having to do the very thing he had applied to do in the first place. Now, however, he abhored the idea. He decided to do the best by his Sovereign that he could.

In spite of the bitter cold of winter, the crowd in front of Whitehall Palace was huge and hugely impatient. When the plan to substitute a pumpkin with a face painted on it for Charles' head failed, Blackadder had to carry through with the job of beheading the King or be killed himself.

When Charles realized he was not long for this world, he asked the attending bishop for his cap, which he put on. Blackadder and the bishop then helped him tuck his hair up under the cap.

After a few words with the attending bishop, the King removed his cloak and handed his Order of the Garter to the bishop, then removed his doublet and put the cloak back on. He then said a short prayer, knelt, and put his head on the block.

"Your Majesty," Blackadder said, bending down to position Charles' head on the block. "Please forgive me."

"It's alright, Blackadder," Charles answered. "I'd rather a friend did this than an enemy."

Blackadder cringed inwardly at the word "friend".

"Is the block well anchored?"

"It is, Sir."

"It could have been a little higher, don't you think?"

Blackadder swallowed drily. "It can be no higher, Sir."

"Is the axe good and sharp?" the King asked.

"Yes, Majesty," Blackadder answered quietly. He had sharpened it himself.

"Oh, good. Well, I suppose you'd better get on with it. When I stretch forth my hands, thus—"

Blackadder bent and tucked the King's hair back under his cap.

"Wait till I give the sign," the King said quietly.

"Yes, your Majesty."

Blackadder surrepticiously wiped first one palm and then the other on his trousers, then remembered what Baldrick had told him nearly sixty years ago at Fotheringhay Castle. He said a quick prayer that he would make a clean cut and spare Charles any pain. The axe when he lifted it seemed to carry the weight of all the souls it had taken. The King stretched his hands in front of him. Blackadder brought the axe down with all the force he could muster.

When the deed was done, and after he had held up the head to the crowd, he believed he understood why the executioner wore a hood. To hide his identity, of course, so that if anyone wanted revenge he would not be easily identified. And to hide the scalding tears running down the headsman's cheeks.

"You can't help being sorry afterwards, my Lord," Baldrick had said.

Indeed.

* * *

**Blackadder's religious preferences are never mentioned in the series, but I based his on those of many people during that time; for many, their religious preferences depended largely on who was on the throne. Blackadder probably started out Catholic, but the excesses of Bloody Mary and having sat through chapel services with Elizabeth First might have had some influence on what he believed. That is totally my invention and has nothing to do with the actor or the creators and writers of Blackadder.**

**In the special about the beheading of Charles First, we see Baldrick's face as he watches Blackadder do the deed. If one watches carefully, one might see on Baldrick's face a hint of relief that Blackadder has removed from him the responsibility of having to behead the King. Again my imagination filled in what I thought might have been going through Blackadder's mind. Charles did say a lot of the stuff in this chapter; for reference, check out **The anonymous account of Charles' death as it appears in Robinson, James Harvey, Readings in European History (1906); Schama, Simon, A History of Britain vol. II (2001); Wedgwood, C. V, A Coffin for King Charles; the Trial and Execution of Charles I (1964).

**This is not the end of my Blackadder story—the first chapter of Part Two will be up soon, promise! Meantime, if you all would care to read and review, I would be so thankful. :-)**


End file.
